


I Live For You

by MartianMadness66



Category: The Beatles
Genre: ABO Universe, Alpha!George, Alpha!John, Alpha!Ringo, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Floof, M/M, Modern AU, Not sure how this is gonna go, Omega!Paul, also the archive warnings apply mostly to memories, because I love them too much, happy? sad? yes, john is trying his best, painter!john, paul is a nervous wreck, so don’t worry, ummmmmmmm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:33:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartianMadness66/pseuds/MartianMadness66
Summary: John is on the brink of disaster. His girlfriend left, his repuatation is in tatters, and he’s resorted to using pseudonyms to get anything of his sold. His friends think they have a solution. John isn’t sure he likes it.





	1. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty so I've been a lurker fanfiction reader for every fandom I've been in and I've never actually tried writing any, despite having many ideas for them. So I'm giving it a shot. Sorry if there's any bad grammar or spelling errors, they are all mine. Let me know if you see 'em! Comments and criticism absolutely appreciated!

He didn’t think they’d actually do it. 

They’d started pestering him about a month after Yoko left. He’d been devastated, hadn’t gotten out of bed for more than a drink in weeks. He dropped all social media, all contact with anyone, couldn’t think past, “I’ve lost my mate.” Yoko was his heart and soul. She’d brought new life to his art, both private and public. His music saw a massive shift, too, from replicating old classics to actually writing his own songs. He found his creativity gone overnight, lost along with his confidence, in an echo of her parting words: “I just need someone who actually cares.”

John had never cared about anything as much as he cared about Yoko.

It all came crashing down one night while he was out drinking. John had been sat at the bar, drowning his misery in a bottle, when some drunk fucker came up to him, throwing a “Hey, you’re John Lennon, right?” 

“Yeah, what the fuck is it to you?” he grumbled. 

The guy laughed. “Nothin’, mate, just heard about your girl. Heard she left ‘cause you were fuckin’ her assistant.” John glared into his bottle, feeling simultaneously furious and exhausted. Didn’t matter how much he slept, he was still tired. 

The fucker wasn’t finished. He turned to the bartender, who was watching the scene warily. “Her assistant was an alpha,” he half-whispered through a grin. John felt rage surge through him. He launched himself at the cackling alpha, fist connecting with any available part of the man. The alpha stumbled back and, unable to balance himself, fell onto the floor with John on top of him. John took his opportunity to fight out the pain and anger and humiliation he’d felt over the last month, forcing all of it out in an endless stream of punches down on the alpha’s stupid, smug face. He wouldn’t have stopped if it hadn’t been for strong arms yanking him up and throwing him unceremoniously from the bar. After that, Ritchie had decided that enough was enough and proceeded to start trying to fix him up. 

That’s really how it started. 

“John, you need someone to take care of you.”

John snorted. “Thanks, mate, but I thought you already had a girlfriend,” he said, winking at the shorter lad. They were sat on the couch, watching Kitchen Nightmares. Ritchie had started coming over at least once a day to make sure that he was properly caring for himself. He never was, which meant that Ritchie didn’t stop coming. John was secretly grateful. 

Ritchie rolled his eyes. “You wish you could have me. But, no, John. I was thinking maybe you should get an Omega.” 

John stared at him. Ritchie shifted uncomfortably. “What?”

“You want me to get a nice, pretty cocksucker so I what? Stop drinking? You think a pretty fucking face is gonna change me? The fuck are you on about, Ritch?” John knew he was being unreasonable. He’d been getting rich off his paintings for years now, and Christ, he definitely could afford an Omega. But needing one… that was different. It made him feel inadequate. A burden on Ritchie, which he already knew he was, but it still hurt to hear it called out, or even implied. 

Ritchie sighed. “That’s not what I meant, John. I just meant, I think being alone here is hard. Would be hard for anyone. I can’t be here all the time, and I hate thinking that you’re stuck here feeling miserable by yourself. And Geo’s family runs a House that has plenty of great Omegas…” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly. “I just don’t want you to be alone, mate.” 

John glared pointedly at the TV. “If you’re so keen on an Omega, why don’t you go ahead and get one yourself,” he snarled. And that had been the end of it. 

Or so he thought. 

Two weeks later saw him coming home from a day trip to the bar, stepping into his flat soaking wet. He shrugged his coat off, flung it angrily at the closet, along with his drenched shoes, then made his way to the bedroom. His mood had gradually soured over the course of four drinks and a rainy walk home. Now that he was home, though, he didn’t know if he wanted to break things or crawl into bed and cry. 

He stopped outside his bedroom, hand hovering over the handle. He breathed deeply. “Shit,” he thought. Definitely an omega in heat. A million questions ran through his head as he slowly pushed the door open. 

The sight that greeted him would be forever burned into his mind. 

Absurdly, the first thing that really made it through the mush his brain had become was that the room had been cleaned. All the clothes put away, all the take-out containers gone. And knelt in the middle of the room, was an Omega. A naked Omega. There was red ribbon tied securely around his ankles, knees and wrists, all topped off with a pretty bowtie attached to a sleek black collar around the boy’s throat. He wore a red blindfold over his eyes and a red ball gag preventing him from making any sound. 

John swallowed. Not only was the scent of heat intense, as if the boy had been there for hours, but the omega was also astoundingly beautiful. Miles of creamy, milk white skin reddened with heat and full, red lips stretched around that ball-gag, Christ. It took him a moment to notice the folded card laid out in front of the Omega.

John took a deep breath through his mouth, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to take the Omega, and slowly approached him, keeping his eyes firmly on the card. He picked it up and opened it.

“John,

We got you the best Omega we could find. Hope he keeps you busy;) 

Best wishes,  
Ritchie & George

P.s. His name is Paul. All his information is on the kitchen counter.”

John shifted his gaze to the Omega – Paul. 

He knelt down and brought his fingers up under the collar, tugging gently. The boy leaned forward, head dropping to the side, sending a sliver of arousal straight through John. He leaned closer, reading the engraving on the collar: Property of John Winston Lennon.

Damn fucking right.


	2. Ain't Too Proud To Beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul has some fun with his new alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Wow! I'm so happy you guys liked it! I wasn't sure exactly how well it'd be received, but it looks like I didn't need to worry XD Anyway, here's another chapter for you all, hope you like it ;) And again, this is unbetaed, so if you see any issues, let me know! Comments and Criticism welcome!

Paul was _s u f f e r I n g_. He didn’t know how long he’d been tied up, but it felt like fucking _years._ The pill they’d given him had kicked in shortly after the alphas had gone, and he’d been left to either focus on his budding heat or his new alpha’s scent. Both left him frustrated. But as much as he needed to be fucked _right now_ , he was also scared. He knew who John Lennon was. He didn’t know that there was anyone who didn’t.

 

The first time Paul had heard of him, he’d been sat on the sofa with his previous owner’s wife. She always let him sit with her when her husband was out; Paul saw it as a kind of apology for the things she knew her husband did to him. The two of them often sat and watched shitty reality television that they both adored, but that night, they’d been glued to the news.

 

John Lennon and his girlfriend Yoko Ono, both celebrated artists in their fields, had been promoting their upcoming exhibition for months, telling anyone who would listen that it was going to be the ultimate expression of love and positivity, sounding to everyone more like misplaced minds from the 70s, rather than contemporary artists.

 

That turned out to be fairly accurate.

 

The exhibition was a mess. Everything was abstract and disorganized, leaving patrons -- some of which were world renowned artists who’d traveled from far and wide just to see the display -- puzzled, but upon asking any questions, John and Yoko – or, _JohnandYoko_ as they’d come to be known – would answer with sarcastic put-downs, rolled eyes, and bored looks. Not even halfway through, they’d gotten up on a table and given a twenty minute speech about the complete incompetence of everyone who had come, saying they were too hateful to truly appreciate the kind of good-natured, kindness-inspired art they had created. They then left their own exhibition.

 

Paul had been flabbergasted, as had most people. John Lennon was known for his brash, thoughtless behavior, but this had taken it to a whole new extreme. After the exhibition debacle, the world had pretty much turned its back on JohnandYoko, thinking them pretentious and unhinged. Not long after, the two of them had split. Yoko had made a point to ensure people knew that she’d been hoodwinked, and had completely cut off contact with John. People were pretty split on the separation. Some people claimed she had just been looking for someone to help bolster her name, sneering that she conveniently left as soon as things got difficult. Others claimed that she was protecting herself from his famed outbursts and semi-abusive tendencies, and applauded her bravery in leaving the unstable mess that was John Lennon. John, for his part, never commented, but made news regularly for bar fights, and random, drunken tweets fired at anything he saw as an insult.

 

On the car ride from the House, when the alpha with the big nose and kind eyes had told him that he was a gift for John Lennon, Paul had been terrified. All he knew of the man was what he’d seen on TV and nothing he’d seen had been good. The alphas had tried soothing him when they smelled his distress, but he’d been too freaked out to be open to receiving it. After a few more halfhearted attempts, they gave up, and started talking to each other, but Paul wasn’t hearing what they were saying. When they pulled up in front of John’s building, Paul started shaking. He was absolutely terrified. The alphas had been nice as they led him through the building but it hadn’t helped. He didn’t know why he was so scared; there was no way that John could be worse than his last alpha.

 

He didn’t even realize that they’d made it into the flat until he found himself being gently urged to kneel. He complied numbly, felt them tie his ankles and wrists with something soft, but didn’t focus on it. He tried to let his mind go blank as a collar was secured around his neck but was pulled back a little as he realized that he’d been undressed. He didn’t remember that happening. The other alpha who’d been with them leaned down and Paul saw his mouth moving but had no idea what he was saying. Was he being talked to?

 

The alpha shook his head briefly and Paul wondered if he’d said that out loud. The alpha moved his hand up and grabbed Paul’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open, and pushed a pill past his lips. He let go and held out a glass of water. Paul gratefully opened his mouth, relieved to feel the cool water against his dry throat. Heat pills were large and hurt like hell going down dry.

 

Almost as soon as he had swallowed, a piece of cloth was cutting off his vision and a ball gag was being pushed into his mouth. The alphas had left soon after that. He had no idea how long it had been. All he knew was that he had a painful erection that he couldn’t take care of, made worse by the room saturated in the scent of _alpha_.

 

And then he heard a door open. He sat perfectly still, knowing he was more likely to get relief if he behaved himself.

 

Except that nothing was happening.

 

The alpha wasn’t moving, wasn’t making a noise, Christ, Paul wasn’t sure he was even _breathing_. Although, to be fair, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it past his own deafening heartbeat anyway. Finally, he heard the alpha move, could practically feel the alpha’s breath as he knelt in front of him. He waited another moment, then fingers crooking under his collar pulled him closer, and he dropped his head to the side, baring his throat. At this point, he wasn’t sure there was anything he wouldn’t do if it meant getting some goddamn _relief._

 

“Christ, look at you,” John – **_Alpha_** _John, Paul, **Alpha** John_ – murmured, his voice laced with barely contained want and his scent, _Christ_ , his _scent_ strengthened, and Paul felt slick drip down his thighs. A guttural growl and then Paul was being yanked up, but he was still bound and blind, his legs numb, and he stumbled into his alpha with a muffled “oomph.”

 

John laughed softly. “Alright, love, I got you,” he said, carefully guiding the bound Omega to sit on the bed, and Paul felt an out-of-place stab of something he was going to pretend was lust or gratitude, and not something as dangerous as _affection_.

 

His heart skipped when Alpha John started working at the bindings around his ankles, undoing them with a care Paul wasn’t going to think about, _no way_ , and the shiver that went through him when the calloused hands trailed up his calves to undo his knees was completely involuntary and another thing Paul was going to avoid thinking about.

 

It was better when he didn’t think about things.

 

As soon as the bindings were removed, Paul found his legs being pushed apart, and a hand on his chest forced him to fall back on the mattress. His breathing was shaky. He was so wound up, he genuinely feared he might start crying, and God, _shit_ the mouth on his nipple certainly wasn’t helping, nor was the hand gently palming his balls.

 

He whimpered around the gag, his back arching against his alpha’s face as teeth nibbled lightly on the bud of his hardened nipple. The hand on his balls moved down and the last vestiges of Paul’s control vanished when two fingers pushed into his wet hole; the tears started streaming, soaking the blindfold, and he knew he was making the most pathetic, wanton noises but he didn’t care, he needed his alpha _right fucking now_ , he couldn’t think about anything else.

 

“Oh, yeah, baby, you like that, don’t you?” John growled, and Paul moaned, pushing back eagerly on the fingers probing him, trying to show the alpha _exactly_ how much he loved it.

 

“Fuck,” John breathed, and then he was gone, his fingers removed and Paul was _writhing_. He brought his bound hands up, desperately trying to reach his alpha, but John was having none of it. He grabbed Paul’s wrists and pinned them down, but before Paul could react, he was being turned over, his legs pulled up under his hips, and Paul knew _exactly_ what this was. He pressed his cheek to the mattress, lifted his hips, presenting his dripping hole for his alpha to take, to _claim_.

 

He wriggled his hips impatiently as he heard the sound of a buckle being undone, whimpering softly, mutedly against the gag. “Alright, _alright_ , baby,” John murmured soothingly, one hand gripping Paul’s hip, the other carefully positioning himself against the dripping entrance. “I’m here, baby.”

 

Paul felt a guttural moan tear through him as John thrust, filling him so perfectly, so _completely_ , and Paul was pushing back, couldn’t stop himself, as John set a brutal pace, each thrust rocking his whole body.

 

Paul moaned brokenly as the alpha moved to cover his back, licking and nipping at the skin below his collar.

 

“Mine,” John snarled between snatches of teeth, leaving mark after mark upon Paul’s neck and shoulder. Paul felt a pressure building inside his hole, and knew Alpha John was close. He closed his eyes and focused on relaxing as the alpha’s knot grew, until John couldn’t pull out, moving his hips in tight, jagged figure eights.

 

The alpha stilled, and there was a brief sensation of being filled before teeth were sinking into Paul’s neck, an odd mix of pain and completion coursing through him as he went limp, body being held up only the dick locked inside him.

 

He jerked, let out a weak moan as a hand gently wrapped around his length. “Shit,” John cursed, and Paul welcomed the feeling of the cockring being removed, pleasure wracking his body as he came hard over his alpha’s hand.

 

His mind was foggy, but he didn’t feel the distress that came with a forced heat. Instead, he felt comfortable and content, _happy_ , even, as the alpha laid him down on his side and curled around him, licking soothingly at the bite he’d left.

 

Paul felt himself drifting off, exhaustion hitting him like a bus. He distantly noticed his hands being untied, the gag slowly removed, along with the blindfold, and then a hand gently grasping at his own.

 

He squeezed back weakly, and fell asleep.


	3. Take My Breath Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for all the lovely comments you left, I'm really glad you're enjoying the story! Real quick, I wanted to mention that I am not British, so if any of my language, culture, or geography is incorrect, feel free to let me know. Anyway, enjoy!

John came to slowly, feeling groggy. He pressed his nose against the soft skin in front of him, sighing contentedly. The Omega was fast asleep, still loosely holding John’s hand, and John found himself smiling. Paul.  _His Omega_. Jesus. He felt a weird mix of satisfaction and nervous anticipation. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to  _do_  with him. As far as he knew, Omegas were for fucking and cleaning. Did they do anything else? He carefully disentangled himself from the gently slumbering form, and sat up, stretching a little, decided to go look at the ‘information’ that Ritchie had mentioned in his note.

 

He got up, quietly closed the bedroom door behind him, and padded down the hallway. He walked into the kitchen, and, sure enough, there were the papers, right next to the sink. John grabbed the stack of papers, reading as he got some coffee brewing. Most of them were the basics: name, age, previous owner. He set those aside for later reading, and continued through the stack. He finally came across what he needed, a manual of sorts for first time owners. John grabbed a mug of coffee and moved into the living room to sit on the couch.

 

He leafed through it, idly sipping his coffee, when a thought occurred to him. Mimi would be  _thrilled_. She’d always loved the idea of having an Omega, had been talking about it for years, and now John would have to tell her that he had one. He decided not to worry about that particular conversation right this minute and continued reading until he heard a noise down the hall. He looked over the back of the couch to see the Omega standing hesitantly –  _naked_  -- in the doorway, his shoulders hunched slightly, like a child fearing punishment.

 

“Hey,” John said, smiling. “How’d you sleep?”

 

Paul’s eyes widened, and he looked down, mumbling a soft, “Well, thank you.”

 

John eyed him for a moment before he cleared his throat, and said, rather uncomfortably, “There’s some coffee in the kitchen, if you like. Or tea, if you’d prefer that.”

 

He watched, fascinated and confused, as Paul tensed, still huddled against the doorway, and murmured, “I’m fine, thank you, Alpha.”

 

John cringed a little. He wasn’t sure he liked being called  _Alpha_.

 

“Don’t call me that,” He said, harsher than he’d intended, and instantly regretted it as the boy flinched in the doorway, offering a barely audible “Okay.”

 

John looked away, feeling guilty and awkward. He didn’t know what to say or how he was supposed to act around the Omega.

 

They sat in tense silence for what felt like hours before John finally gave in and said, “Get over here.”

 

He watched as Paul moved, almost robotically, dropping to his knees in front of John, head bowed. John felt a strange pang of something unpleasant, but pushed it down as he reached out, gently lifting the boy’s chin so could see his face. Paul’s eyes were downcast, his hair greasy, a sheen on his skin and John remembered, rather guiltily, that the boy had been in heat yesterday –  _shit._

 

“Are you on birth control?” He asked, harsh in his panic, as no memory of condom use came to mind.

 

“Yes, sir,” Paul answered dutifully, quietly.

 

John sat back, relief flooding his system. He was definitely not ready to be a father.

 

He observed the Omega knelt in front of him, trying to place the source of the firm discomfort lodged in his chest. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t comfortable with how the boy was sitting.

“You can, uh, sit on the couch, you know,” he said carefully. Paul looked up, eyes wide and terrified.

“I shouldn’t,” Paul answered, nervously twiddling his hands in his lap.

 

John felt irritation spike. “I fuckin’ said you could, didn’t I? Fucking sit on the bloody couch,” he snapped.

 

Paul was up in a flash and sitting on the couch, his scent flooded with fear, as he curled over himself. John sneered, looking away as guilt and embarrassment flooded his system, staining his cheeks red. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the Omega, but the more he avoided the boy, the guiltier he felt, which he had never handled well. He felt the familiar anger building in its place, bringing with it a sort of adrenaline rush that he fully welcomed.

 

He stood abruptly, looked down at the boy –  _the Omega_  -- sat huddled and naked on his couch, and felt a surge of power tinged with  _something_  that he chose to ignore.

 

“I’m going out,” he said. “When I get back, I expect this place to be spotless, and you fucking clean. You’re disgusting. I’ll be bringing back some friends, and I fully expect you to be presentable, and – can you cook?” The Omega nodded. John frowned. “I expect a bloody verbal answer.  _Can you cook?_ ”

 

“Yes, sir,” Paul answered quietly.

 

“Good. Have something ready when I get home.”

 

With that, John left the room, stopping by his bedroom to grab his phone and jacket. He paused by the front door to slip into his shoes, when he felt he was being watched. He looked up to see the Omega standing stock still, twiddling his fingers nervously.

 

“What?” John barked. Paul flinched, dropping his eyes, and mumbled something inaudible.

 

“What?” He asked again, softer. Paul shifted and murmured, “When will you be home?”

 

Oh. He shrugged, “I don’t know.” Paul nodded.

 

“How many will you be bringing home?”

 

John shrugged again. “Does it fucking matter?”

 

“Of course not, sir,” Paul murmured.

 

When no more questions were forthcoming, John turned to leave, then remembered that there was one more thing he had to handle.

 

He looked back at the Omega standing in the hallway, fully naked, hiding absolutely nothing, and knew that was unacceptable.

 

“Put some fucking clothes on, Jesus Christ,” he demanded.

 

Paul shifted again.

 

“I don’t have any, sir,” he said softly.

 

John looked at him blankly.

 

“You don’t have any clothes?” He asked incredulously.

 

Paul shook his head, and then quickly said, “No, sir.”

 

John cursed. How the fuck did he not have any clothes?

 

“Fine, just – I don’t know, put some of mine on then,” he said, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

 

He left feeling irritated and uncomfortable, Paul’s soft “Yes, sir” echoing in his ears.

 

 

 

 

Paul flinched as the door slammed closed, feeling terrible and nervous. He couldn’t help but feel like he had let his Alpha down. He took a deep breath, trying to stub his building anxiety, and leaned his forehead against the wall, breathing carefully until his racing heart finally slowed. He turned his mind to the tasks John had set him to, knowing that once he was fully engaged, his anxiety would be pushed to the side.

 

Paul quickly got to work, first grabbing some clothes from John’s room, a simple t-shirt and boxers, and popped into the bathroom for a quick shower, before he started cleaning the living room. He worked his way around the flat, cleaning up empty bottles and take-out boxes, vacuuming all the rooms, washing up the dishes in the kitchen. Once he was finished, he checked the clock on the oven and saw, to his dismay, that it was already well past noon. He’d been cleaning for at least three hours. He nibbled a finger nail anxiously, trying to predict what time John would be back. Would he be coming back for lunch, or would he be later? Did he want something hot or cold?

 

Paul decided that cold was the smartest decision, as he could prepare it and leave it in the fridge until he needed it.

 

He set out looking through John’s fridge, and realized with growing dread that John had almost nothing. He had lots of beer and cheese, but nothing else. The freezer was a little better. It was, at the very least,  _full_ , although it was filled with frozen pizzas and mozzarella sticks. Nothing Paul felt very comfortable serving his Alpha.

 

He searched the cabinets and found a few bags of crisps, and some salsa, and found that a plan was already formulating. He scrapped the idea for a cold dish, and decided that he’s serve nachos. Not ideal, but he didn’t have much to work with. He took out a bag of crisps and set it on the counter, just so he could be ready.  _Not that nachos are difficult_ , he thought nervously.

 

He took a breath and looked around, trying to find something to do. His mind kept wandering back to the music room he’d cleaned earlier, stocked with a grand piano (to his delight), and more guitars than he’d ever seen, all different shapes and sizes. He wanted to play them all.

 

He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t end well, he’d most likely get punished severely for infringing on what was obviously a very personal space to his Alpha, but music had always been his weakness, and he soon found himself standing in front of the piano, biting his lip. He carefully sat down on the bench, felt that familiar twist of excitement in his gut, and settled his shaking hands on the keys.

 

All of his worries and fears slipped away as Paul began playing, a deep contentment filling his being. He had no idea how long he sat there, soaking up the sound of music, something he he’d not heard in months, but he was so enraptured that the sound of the door opening didn’t even come close to reaching him.

 

 

 

 

It was around five that John finally came home. He’d spent the morning trying to walk off the odd feeling his encounter with the Omega had left him with. It had taken him a while to remember that he had brought his headphones with him, and almost as soon as they were in and Simon and Garfunkel’s voices were wistfully singing  _America_  into his ears, he felt himself calming. Around noon, he’d given in and called Ritchie, asked if he wanted to meet up for lunch. They met up at the Submarine, a local pub they both adored, and Ritchie brought George along. As soon as they were sat down, John had gotten grilled with questions. It had felt good to talk about it some, though he hadn’t told them everything, especially not the parts about him feeling overwhelmingly guilty. He’d never live it down. And besides, he didn’t know why he felt that way anyway, so best to just leave it.

 

They wandered a bit after that, browsed some old record shops and music stores, before deciding to head back to John’s.

 

“Really, though, I just hope he’s wearing clothes,” John said, turning the key in the lock. “He was walking around stark fuckin’ naked.”

 

George laughed. “He’s an Omega, mate. That’s kinda what they do.”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want people coming here and seeing him like that,” He grumbled, swinging the door open. He took his jacket off, and hung it on the rack as he kicked off his shoes. He turned, noticing Geo and Ritch looking around awkwardly.

 

“What?” He asked, confused.

 

They looked at each other.

 

“Uh,” Ritchie started, looking uncomfortable.

 

“He should be greeting you at the door,” George said.

 

John looked at them, realized they were right. At least, that’s what he always saw on TV.

 

He cursed and began to look around. He was just beginning to think that the Omega had run, when he saw Ritch and George standing still outside his music room. He walked toward them and stopped dead in his tracks.

 

The door was open, and the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard was flowing straight out of the room. He moved forward, intrigued, and saw Paul sat at his piano, playing and  _singing_ , his voice astoundingly brilliant. He shared a look with George and Ritchie. The three of them had been hanging out and playing casually together for years, they’d even written a song or two, but it had never been anything like  _this_. It didn’t even occur to him to be angry at the Omega for overstepping his bounds, he was so enraptured.

 

He carefully, quietly, stepped into the room and approached the Omega. As soon as he was close enough, he asked softly, “Did you write that?”

 

He wasn’t prepared for how badly Paul reacted. He jumped up, instantly moving away from the piano, terror lacing his scent. John felt himself choke a little.  _What the fuck_ , he thought, shocked. Paul dropped to his knees on the ground, shaking and murmuring things John could only assume were some form of English, albeit a form he definitely could not understand. He quickly moved forward, desperate to calm the Omega.

 

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s alright. I’m not mad,” he said, gently resting a hand on the back of the boy’s neck. He saw Paul take a deep, shaky breath, and moved to carefully pull the shaking boy into his arms, murmuring soft reassurances all the while.

  
John was all too aware of his friends’ stares, but tried to focus on Paul. He couldn’t stop the overwhelming confusion he felt, however. In only a few hours he’d gone from trying to make the Omega feel welcome, to trying to dominate him, to comforting him all over again. He had absolutely no idea what the  _fuck_  was happening in his brain, and it made him nervous.

 

Eventually, Paul calmed down, nose pressed against the crook of John’s neck, breathing in his scent. John continued to soothingly rub the boy’s back, keeping him at ease, as he asked him again, “Did you write that?”

 

Paul tensed a little in his arms, but nodded, before whispering a soft, “Yes, sir.”

 

“I liked it,” he said quietly. “Have you written anything else?”

 

Paul murmured an affirmative, and John made eye contact with Ritch, who appeared, much to John’s relief, to be thinking the same thing as him:  _we fucking need this kid._


	4. Treacherous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, woo! I'm posting a little bit earlier because I know that this week is going to be busy for me. Thank you for the comments and kudos, they make me smile like a kid on Christmas morning, I swear to god XD Keep 'em comin'!

Paul felt humiliated. He had been shocked, terrified, when John had spoken, and fear had taken over. He’d tried to stutter out an apology, but he couldn’t think past the blind panic clouding his mind. And then, _and then_ , John was comforting _him_ , _Paul_ , an _Omega_ , but he calmed astoundingly quickly as John rubbed his back, whispered soothingly in his ear. He hated himself for it. But he didn’t want John to stop. He was slipping into a wonderfully relaxed state even as these thoughts swirled. Paul sighed softly against John’s neck.

  
John’s arm moved to settle across Paul’s shoulders as he turned and said something to someone - were there other people here? John squeezed his arm gently, and then his head was being turned, and he could feel John’s mouth moving against his forehead, but he couldn’t make out any words. He opened his eyes and looked up, feeling sleepy. John laughed softly, kissed Paul’s forehead, and said quietly, “Play me something else?”

  
Paul stirred. “Okay,” he murmured. He tried to get himself to move, but he felt heavy, exhausted, and as such couldn’t help himself from snuggling closer to John. John’s laugh warmed him, sending a strange tingle into his chest, and then he was being gently pushed away with a snorted, “Come on, then, play me summit.”

  
Paul rolled his eyes as he got up and sat at the piano bench, and then, realizing what he’d done, nervously glanced at John, who was grinning, sitting on the floor cross legged. He nodded encouragingly, said, “Go on.”

  
Paul bit his lip, and gave a tight nod. His fingers hovered over the keys as he thought of something to play. He didn’t know what John liked in terms of music, so he decided to play it safe and go with something more on the classic side.

  
John’s eyes brightened, and his grin stretched wider as the sound of Bob Dylan’s _Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door_ reaches his ears. He turned and shared a look with Ritch and George, both of whom looked impressed. John quietly got up and moved to stand next to the other two. “Kid’s fucking great,” he whispered, smiling excitedly. “You two’ve really outdone yourselves this time.”

  
George looked at him. “He’s great, for sure, but John,” he glanced at Ritchie. “We don’t, you know, we don’t teach the omegas this kind of thing at the House.”

  
John stared at George, who was shifting uncomfortably. “Where’d he learn it, then?”

  
George shrugged. “Probably his last owner taught him,” Ritchie threw in.

  
“I taught myself,” a quiet voice added.

  
They looked over, alarmed to see that Paul had finished playing. Paul blushed and looked at his lap, murmuring an apology.

  
A tense silence followed as John tried to think of something to say. He wanted to ask _how_ and _when_ and _why_ , but he also felt a pressure from his mates, even the _Omega_ , to scold, set ground rules. He readied himself, said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re wearing clothes,” John observed dryly.

He could have hit himself. While, _yes_ , _that was a good thing_ , this was very much not the time to point it out. He could feel Geo and Ritch staring at him, and he busied himself with staring at one of his guitars, taking in every detail, if only to ignore the heat creeping into his cheeks.

  
Paul looked up at him through his lashes, his cheeks red, and awkwardly shrugged, “You wanted me to. Right?” He looked worried.

  
John’s eyes snapped back to Paul, and nodded enthusiastically. “Uh, yeah, yes. Yes, I did, that’s right. Good job,” he added as an afterthought. He looked at his mates, both staring at him like he was speaking a different language.

  
John glanced around, trying to find something to take their minds off of his inability to properly scold the Omega, and remembered where they were. “Well,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t we do some playing.”

 

He grabbed his guitar and sat on the floor. He looked at the others expectantly. “Well, come on, then,” John said, nodding at the drum set in the corner. George and Ritchie shared a look, then both moved off, Ritch to the drum set and George to a guitar. John nodded, strummed a few chords, then looked at Paul, sitting frozen at the piano, confusion and intrigue in his eyes.

 

“Play something,” he commanded.

 

Paul sat up straight, nodded, and turned back to the piano.

  
They sat like that, playing whatever came to mind, and John found himself enthralled once again with the beauty of Paul’s voice. It was sweet, lovely, an odd mix of low and high tones and John couldn’t get enough of it. John also learned, much to his delight, that Paul was a fan of the same music as him - every song he started was better than the next. He went from Buddy Holly to Ed Sheeran and everything in between. Kid had great taste. He also played incredibly well with the three alphas. It’s like they were all reading each other’s minds, playing like they’d been playing together their whole lives, rather than a few hours.

  
They were interrupted by Paul’s stomach rumbling rather loudly. John looked at Paul, sat cringing at the piano, then to Geo and Ritch, said, “How do we feel about taking a snack break?” “I’m good as long as it’s more than a fucking snack, I’m starving,” George said, eagerly hanging the guitar on the wall. Ritchie laughed as John rolled his eyes.

 

“Listen, you’re gonna take whatever I fucking give you, and you’re gonna be happy, ‘cause you’re not paying, got it?” John quipped, pointing at George.

 

“I’ll be happy as long as its’s fucking good, you cheap bastard,” George shot back

 

John flipped him the bird as he got up, hung his guitar back up, and turned to Paul, sat frozen at the piano. John approached him, settled on the bench, asking, “What sounds good to you, then?”

 

“Why does he get to choose?” George whined, earning a smack on the arm from Ritchie.

 

“’Cause I’m not in the fucking mood for Indian,” John snapped back. He turned back to Paul. “So?”

  
Paul nervously bit at his finger. “I can make whatever, but I’d have to go the store,” he said quietly. And then, with his head bowed, murmured, “I should have had something made earlier.”

 

John shook his head. “I know I told you to have something made, but you’re right, we don’t exactly have anything, so it’s fine. How about we order something though, I’m not in the mood for shopping. Anything in mind?”

 

Paul bit his lip as he looked at John. He shrugged, murmured, “Whatever you want will be perfect.”

 

John looked at Ritchie and George, both staring at him as if to say, ‘ _what did you expect?_ ‘

 

 John shrugged. “Alright, pizza, then.”

 

  
They moved into the living room to wait for the food to arrive.

 

“I think I should get to choose what we watch since you didn’t let me pick the food,” George said, already digging through John’s DVDs as he spoke.

 

John glowered, but didn’t object, as he settled on the sofa, patting the space next to him when he noticed Paul standing uncomfortably off to the side. Paul shifted, then moved to perch on the couch, completely rigid, as Ritchie went to help George choose a movie. John leaned forward, gently placed a hand on Paul’s knee. Paul jumped, looked at John with large, frightened eyes.

 

“What’s wrong?” John asked quietly.

 

Paul looked at him, said slowly “I should be on the floor.”

 

John raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was your alpha, and that I make the rules?”

 

Paul stared at his hands, folded in his lap, and said, “Yes, of course, sir.”

 

John sighed in frustration. When they’d been playing, it had almost felt like Paul wasn’t an Omega, like he was just a mate come to hang out for a while, but here on the couch, Paul hunched over, smelling intensely of shame and nerves, reality hit him. He had always stayed outside of the circles that kept omegas, as he wasn’t entirely sure what they were like or how to treat them. His biggest issue was that he kept trying to treat Paul like an alpha. Maybe Paul would seem more comfortable if he tried to be more controlling? No, because he’d been freaked out earlier by it.

  
He was jerked out of his thoughts by a DVD hitting him in the face. “What the fuck?” He exclaimed.

  
“You don’t have anything good,” George said, sounding bored.

  
“Well I didn’t fucking tell you to go through my movies,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

  
Paul snorted quietly next to him. John’s attention snapped to Paul.

 

“What?” He meant to sound angry, but he was pretty sure he just came across as baffled.

  
Paul went beet red as he looked nervously at John.

 

“You just,” his cheeks got redder, he hunched over a little more. “You look like a pouty kid.”

 

Instantly, George and Ritch burst into laughter. John felt his cheeks redden as he unfolded his arms, muttering, “Yeah, ha ha, whatever.”

 

 He looked at Paul who was smiling softly, nervously biting his lip as he peaked at him through his lashes. John smiled. He liked seeing Paul happy. John shoved down the weird tingle in his stomach and turned back to the other two.

 

“Let’s just watch Netflix or Hulu or something,” John said, throwing his arm across the back of the couch.

 

George’s eyes lit up, and he raced to the remote shouting, “Top Chef!!!!”

 

Ritchie followed more slowly, settling next to Paul on the couch. He turned to the Omega and smiled.

 

“How are you?” He asked kindly.

 

Paul smiled shyly at him. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking, sir.”

  
John looked on fondly. Paul was fucking adorable.

 

“Alright, fellas, let’s get some Colicchio on!” George exclaimed, squishing onto the couch next to Ritch.

 

Paul scooted closer to John to make room. John eyed him, then gently wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulled Paul against him. Paul shifted a little to get more comfortable, settled his head on John’s shoulder.

  
While George was absorbed in the TV, Ritchie was observing the pair next to him. He could tell from the moment he’d first seen John interact with the Omega that he had a soft spot for him. He wasn’t able to properly scold the Omega or treat him like he was supposed to; Paul _should_ be knelt on the ground, but John had allowed him to sit on the couch, _like they were equals_. Ritchie felt his stomach sink. He knew this wasn’t going to end well. John had a tendency of falling hard for people and getting far more than his fair share of heartache in return. If he was falling for the _Omega_... John had been a wreck after Yoko. Ritchie didn’t want to see the aftermath of an alpha of John’s standing falling for an Omega, a _slave_. The world would destroy him. Ritchie sighed, deciding that he’d be there for John, no matter what happened.

  
When the buzzer rang, Paul got up to buzz the pizza man up. He walked back into the living room, approaching John tentatively. He knelt in front of him, rested his cheek on John’s knee, and murmured, “May I have a fiver for tip?”

 

John stared down at Paul, the increasingly familiar swirl of discomfort and arousal in his stomach as he got a fiver out of his wallet, handed it over. Paul nuzzled John’s knee and thanked him softly before he got up and disappeared down the hall. John stared after him, feeling confused.

 

“That’s what he’s supposed to do.”

 

John turned to George, who was looking at him with a blank expression.

 

“What are you on about?” John shot back, feeling aggravation building.

 

George stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

 

“He’s an Omega, John,” he said, sounding putout. “He does the stuff you don’t want to do, he’s there for your _use_. Don’t make the mistake of getting attached.”

 

John bristled. Who the _fuck_ did George think he was?

 

“I’m not fucking getting attached just because I haven’t fucking hit him, you arsehole. He’s not done anything wrong, you think I should beat him down for shit he hasn’t done?” He snarled.

 

He had no idea why he felt so angry, but the thought, the _image_ , of treating Paul like Omegas were treated on TV, like George was suggesting, felt _wrong_. It made his stomach twist in horrible ways that didn’t make any sense because he knew, he _knew_ , deep down, that George was right, that Paul was an Omega, and that he should be treated as such. But it hadn’t even been a full day and John was already feeling guilty for having treated Paul the way did that morning.

 

George backed off a little.

 

“I’m not saying you should be punishing him, but you shouldn’t be conditioning him to think that he’s on the same playing field as you. You’re an Alpha, he’s an Omega. He’s a slave, John. He’s not your equal.”

 

George was saved from what have probably been an outburst for the history books by Paul returning with the pizzas. He entered hesitantly, feeling anxious as the intense scent of anger hit him. He set the pizzas down on the coffee table then scurried away to grab some plates and drinks. When he came back he passed out the beers, and got to work dishing up the pizza. John accepted his plate, watched Paul with uncomfortable fascination as he handed Ritchie and George their plates, and then settled back next to John, without any food.

 

“What’re you doing?” John asked, baffled.

 

Paul’s eyes widened and he quickly slid to the floor on his knees, head bowed. John cursed himself inwardly.

 

“No no no, I meant why don’t you have any food, you daft lad?” John asked, pulling Paul back up onto the couch.

 

Paul looked at him, wide eyed. “Can I- I can have some?” He asked, awed.

 

John’s stomach dropped. He didn’t want to know why Paul didn’t think he could have any.

 

“Of course, have as much as you like,” he said, and watched with discomfort as Paul eagerly dove in.

 

Ritchie, who’d been quietly watching everything, decided to lighten the mood. “He’s got an appetite to rival yours, George,” he said, laughing lightly.

 

Paul’s cheeks reddened, as John and George joined in, laughing at Paul’s enthusiasm, and effectively breaking the cold standoff between the two alphas.

 

  
Two pizzas and 5 episodes of Top Chef later, George and Ritchie decided to head off.

 

“You may not be on a schedule, but the rest of us are,” Ritchie smiled, pulling on his coat.

 

“Yeah, Rory’ll kill us if we’re late tomorrow,” George grumbled, shuffling toward the door.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you two have _real_ jobs, I get it,” John grinned, leaning against the wall.

 

The two of them worked in a ‘50s diner, alternating between waiting tables and playing a make-believe group called Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. Ritchie loved his job, and George liked it well enough, but everyone knew he’d rather actually be in the recording studio than a diner. He never tried to hide it. Secretly, John thought he could probably make it if he really put his mind to it. Kid was fucking gifted.

 

Ritchie patted John’s arm, “Maybe you’ll get one when you grow up, John.”

 

“Get the fuck outta here,” John snorted, lightly shoving Ritch toward the door.

 

 Ritchie laughed.

 

“Goodnight, John.”

 

“‘Night, guys,” John said, closing the door behind them.

 

He took a breath, fighting the exhaustion wracking his body. He went back to the living room to pick up the remaining pizza to find Paul already taking care of it. He leaned against the wall, watched the boy work. There was something almost... _domestic_ about it. When Paul finished, he looked around, found John, and gave him a questioning look. John stood up straight, put his hands in his pockets.

 

“I’m heading to bed, ‘m bloody knackered,” he said, watching the boy with intrigue, as he shifted nervously.

 

“Alright,” Paul said, standing up straighter. “Do you need anything before bed, sir?”

 

John cringed.

 

“Uh, no. No, I’m good,” he said. And then, “Come on, then, let’s go.”

 

Paul nervously followed John into his bedroom, moved to stand awkwardly in the corner while John stripped down to his boxers. John pulled the covers back on his bed and crawled in. He raised an eyebrow at the awkward figure in the corner.

 

“You coming?” He asked.

 

Paul nodded quickly, and moved to crawl in next to John.

 

“There we go,” John murmured, turning out the light.

 

He turned and gathered the stiff figure into his arms, rubbing Paul’s back until he relaxed, snuggling closer to John. John smiled, pressed a soft kiss to the Omega’s soft, clean hair. He timed his breathing to the boy’s in his arms and fell into what would be one of the best night’s sleep he’d had in a while.


	5. A Breathtaking Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! Sorry this chapter took so long, guys, I had several school things all happen at once and the chapter decided to fight me a bit. But hey, new chapter! Hopefully this'll tide you over until the next one. The next couple of weeks might have some sporadic updating, though I'll try to be stay on schedule. Enjoy!

Paul spent the next few days trying to adjust to his new home. John was far more patient than his last Alpha, which was great for Paul because he was actually allowed to ask questions. John even took him _shopping!_ Thank God, too, because Paul would definitely have gotten lost. He learned that John lived in downtown London, which was a very disarming realization considering that he’d thought that he was still in Liverpool. When he mentioned it to John, John had looked at him like he was insane.

“Are you serious? You thought you were in Liverpool?”

  
Paul’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  
“Well,” He murmured, shuffling. “My family and I lived in Liverpool, and we never moved. I didn’t realize that I’d been transferred.”

  
He couldn’t even think of why he would have been moved. Except...

  
Well, he couldn’t exactly remember why his family had gotten rid of him. He had been wracking his brain, trying to figure out what he’d done to upset his Alpha to the point that he hadn’t seen anymore use for Paul, but he couldn’t think of anything. Paul knew it was his fault, though. It was always his fault.

  
John awkwardly pat his back.

 

“Well, uh, this is London. Not Liverpool,” he said, eyeing Paul like he thought he would snap any second. Paul shrunk as they walked on in silence, John uncomfortable, and Paul downcast.

  
Luckily, Paul’s mood had brightened considerably when they’d reached the store. Paul knew this. He took comfort in the familiarity of a supermarket. John grabbed a cart, and told Paul to get whatever he thought he’d need. When Paul hesitantly asked about a budget, he was brushed off and told to get on with his shopping.

  
John followed Paul with amusement. He knew that people were staring —some even filming them— but he didn’t care. It was good to see Paul happy. He did find it funny, though, that Paul was getting so excited about food. The shy, nervous wreck from before had turned into an excitable child, talking a mile a minute, occasionally shooting questions at John that he didn’t have time to answer, and then continuing on his merry way. John had a sudden yearning to always see this: the excitable and bright eyed charmer that was stunning everyone who looked at him. John shook himself. He couldn’t think like that.

 

He paused, realizing that he was right in front of the beer. He debated for a moment, then grabbed two six packs. He turned, searching for Paul who was suddenly nowhere to be found. He moved down the aisle, looking for the obnoxious yellow shirt he’d given Paul to wear for exactly this reason - _so that he wouldn’t fucking lose him_. He picked up his pace, nerves slowly building until finally he turned down the cereal aisle and froze, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. Oh, that was too _cute_.

 

 Paul was knelt in the aisle, happily chatting away with some woman while he eagerly cuddled her dog. The woman looked up at John.

 

“He yours?” She asked with an amused smile, nodding at Paul.

 

John huffed a laugh.

 

“He is,” he said around a smile.

 

Paul looked up at John, eyes bright and cheeks red as he hugged the dog closer.

 

“Sir, you should get a dog!” He said excitedly.

 

The woman laughed nervously.

 

“Well, he’s bold!” She said, smiling hesitantly.

 

John very suddenly loathed this woman as he watched Paul deflate and let go of the dog, turning instead to apologize for his rudeness.

 

John cut him off, keeping his tone light, even as he eyed the woman coldly, “I don’t know about a dog, but I’ve been thinking about getting a cat for a while now. How does that sound?”

 

Paul’s head shot up, his eyes wide and a disbelieving smile lighting his face. “Really?” Paul asked, hopeful.

 

The woman gaped at John.

 

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” she said.

 

“No, I’m John. But I’m also serious,” he added, winking at Paul.

 

Paul brought his hand to his mouth, stifling his giggles.

 

“Come on, babe, let’s finish up. Do you need anything else?” John asked, gently pulling Paul to his feet.

 

Paul nervously glanced at the woman, and then the full cart, and shook his head.

 

“Alrighty, let’s pay then!” He said, placing a guiding hand on the small of Paul’s back as they walked.

 

John turned at the last minute to look at the woman and stuck his tongue out, laughing as she spluttered.

 

When they got to the checkout, Paul turned to him, eyes wide with panic.

 

“Sir,” he whispered, eyes darting around quickly. “They’re filming you.”

  
John laughed.

 

“Yeah, they do that. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

 

Paul bit his lip.

 

“Are we doing something wrong?”

 

John snorted.

 

“No, they’re just nosey arseholes. I swear they do this every time I go out just to see if I’m gonna have a fit.”

 

They got to the register and Paul’s jaw dropped when he saw the total. John grinned at the gaping boy as he swiped his card, ignoring the obnoxious cashier. He could smell her arousal, but even if he couldn’t, she wasn’t exactly subtle. What pissed him off was that she wasn’t eyeing him, but _Paul_. Couldn’t she see the fucking collar? Paul was _his_ and _his_ only. John glared at the cashier as they left, wrapping a possessive arm around Paul to get the point across. _Step off, bitch_.

  
On the way home, he tried to be helpful and carry some bags, but Paul insisted on carrying everything himself.

 

“People are already staring, Sir. I’d rather not give them anymore fuel to judge you with.”

 

John didn’t like that Paul was focusing so much on the random people gawking at them. He’d never given a shit what they thought. He didn’t want Paul to, either. He didn’t say anything, though. Just thought about Paul’s strange, almost suspiciously quick loyalty as they walked in silence.

***

  
It was easy to fall into a routine once Paul had everything he needed. He woke up at 6, took a shower, and did whatever tidying was necessary until John woke up some time around 11, at which point Paul would prepare something to eat. John would leave as soon as he was finished and usually wouldn’t be back until late. John had given Paul permission to do whatever he wanted while he was gone, so Paul spent his free time alternating between playing in the music room, reading, and watching TV.

  
Paul thought John had a very nice flat. John had a small, but expensive-seeming kitchen that Paul already loved using, as well as the music room, a library, and an art room. Paul particularly loved the art room. It was absolutely _stunning_. He knew John was an artist, but had never actually seen any of his work. He’d felt choked. John had painted every corner of the room — Paul had been reminded of a movie he’d seen with his last family where the girl had had too much time on her hands and had painted every inch of the house — and every single stroke seemed packed with emotion. Despite his overwhelming feeling of _intrusion_ , Paul had been too mystified to leave. He’d eventually grabbed one of John’s guitars and sat in the corner of the room, content to gaze around as he lazily played a thoughtless melody. John had found him there, heavy-lidded, scent mildly tinged with arousal, looking up at John languidly. John had made a quick retreat, alarmed that instead of the usual anger he’d feel toward anyone -- even Yoko -- for entering his art room, he felt _aroused_.

  
_About what, though?_ he thought, irritated. It’s not like Paul was doing anything particularly arousing. He just seemed very happy in John’s space. Which shouldn’t be such a big deal, he told himself. It’s just… John didn’t do well with _vulnerability_. The Studio was _his space_. His safe haven. And it made him very uncomfortable to realize that he _liked_ Paul being in his space.

  
Not just happy, though, Paul felt relaxed in the art room. It was the place that smelled the most like John, where he’d go whenever he felt homesick, or anxious, or he just needed a minute to clear his head.

  
About a week into their newly developed routine, Paul was sitting on the couch reading an odd book of poetry. John had a very strange collection. He had a bit of everything, though it seemed that he was fond of the more... _controversial_ topics. Paul had intentionally grabbed a book that was well-loved, the cover worn and spine creased. This particular book seemed to be a collection of poems all about the wonders of alpha/alpha lovemaking. Paul was very curious as to why it was so worn down. Was John...?

 

He jumped when the front door slammed open, closely followed by the sound of John cursing up a storm. Paul put the book on the coffee table and nervously stood to greet John.

 

“Welcome home, Sir.”

 

John glared at him.

 

“Oh, piss off,” he snarled, making a beeline for the fridge.

 

Paul shrunk back, slowly sinking back onto the couch. He didn’t know what to do with an angry John. He sat, hunched slightly, biting at his finger nervously as John walked back into the living room and flung himself down on the couch, beer in hand.

  
He took a swig, then said, “Put something on, then.”

 

Paul fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt.

 

“Anything in mind, Sir?”

 

“I would’ve just put it on if I did,” John snapped.

 

Paul flinched, murmured a soft, “Okay,” and got up to rifle through John’s movies. He came across something unexpected for a man like John, and his anxiety and excitement warred as he put the movie on. Paul sat next to John and turned on the TV, turning to John with nervous expectation. John stared blankly at the screen.

 

“Annie?” He asked, shocked.

 

He hadn’t seen that movie since he was a kid. When the fuck did he get Annie?

 

“Is that okay?” Paul asked, wide-eyed.

 

John rolled his eyes, still pissed.

 

“Whatever,” he mumbled into his beer.

 

He saw Paul deflate and slowly draw his knees up to his chin. John pushed down a pang of guilt as he took out his phone, reading through the various texts Stu had sent him. Stu had called him earlier to let him know that Yoko had done yet _another_ interview and that John really had better not see this one. Of course, in typical John fashion, he’d quickly looked it up, his mood dropping as soon as he heard her voice, a deep loneliness filling him as he listened to her talk about his laundry list of faults. He’d stood frozen, afraid of the dark mood he suddenly found himself in. He’d never been good at dealing with stuff like this, and realized numbly that he should probably get home. If someone made the mistake of talking to him, he knew he’d flip, and the last thing he needed was more bad publicity. The videos of him and Paul at the supermarket had quickly gone viral, and John found himself in yet another game of tug-of-war. According to the Omega Rights activists, he was the scum of the earth, a hypocrite, for owning an omega and they were apparently going to boycott his work. He was a fucking _artist_ , though. What the hell were they boycotting? It’s not like they knew about his book series. He’d carefully hidden behind a pseudonym so that any bad press wouldn’t be able to effect his profits. On the other side, the conservatives thought John was their new spokesman. He’d seen them cite him several times throughout multiple articles as a believer in Omega inferiority. He definitely needed to get home, get a fucking _drink_. As he walked, he stewed over Yoko’s words, growing increasingly frustrated, and by the time he got home, he was practically shaking with fury. He couldn’t _believe_ she was walking around telling everyone that _he_ was the crazy one, that _he_ had fucked up _her_ reputation? Who the fuck did she think she was? He’d just wanted to get his mind off of Yoko, and poor Paul was paying the price.

  
John sighed, and set his beer down on the coffee table. He sent a quick text to Ritchie, and threw his arm over Paul’s shoulders, pointedly ignoring the look Paul gave him, instead turning to focus on the movie. Paul turned to gently nuzzle at John’s neck and the tension melted from John’s bones. This. He needed this. John kissed an apology to Paul’s temple, resting his cheek on Paul’s head as he returned his attention to the movie.

  
***

  
The credits were rolling but Paul had no desire to move. Halfway through the movie, he’d adjusted so that he was practically sitting on John’s lap, relishing in the feeling of John’s arms around him. He let out a soft noise as John lifted him slightly, moved him so that he was sat fully on John’s lap, facing him. Paul blinked, completely baffled as the scent of John’s arousal hit him. How had he missed it?

 

John’s hand came up to gently cup Paul’s cheek, thumb brushing Paul’s lips. Paul smiled, turning to press a soft kiss against John’s palm.

 

He eyed John lazily, fondly, murmuring “Do you feel better, Sir?”

 

John’s eyes were lidded, pupils blown, as he licked his lips.

 

“I might be after we take care of this,” he said, thrusting his hips up.

 

Paul gasped as he felt John’s hardness press against him. He licked slowly up John’s hand before taking two fingers into his mouth, sucking softly at them. He felt himself grow wet as John groaned and started slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of Paul’s mouth, mimicking something Paul hoped they’d get to shortly. But first...

 

Paul pulled away, John’s hand falling to his side as Paul stood up and quickly removed his shorts and T-shirt, tossing them to floor. He moved to kneel between John’s spread knees, nuzzling briefly at John’s crotch before bringing his hands up to unzip his trousers. Paul pulled John’s underwear down and pulled his cock out, gently squeezed the base as he lapped at the head, teasingly pressing soft kisses here and there. He felt John shift, and then there was a hand tightly fisted in Paul’s hair, urging him forward.

 

“C’mon, baby, that’s right,” John murmured, as Paul wrapped his lips around John’s hardness, tongue eagerly swirling around the head. John pushed him down until Paul’s nose was buried in his pubes, and Paul moaned as his senses were overwhelmed by _John_ -in his hair, in his nose, in his _mouth_. Paul sucked with vigor, trying his best to please John. He bobbed up down, John’s hand a steady weight on his head as he moved. Paul felt John’s grip tighten and knew he was close. He moved faster, bringing his hand up to stroke John’s cock as went. John tensed and held Paul in place as he came. Paul looked up at John through his lashes as he swallowed, a jolt of arousal going through him as John stared back, eyes intense, filled with lust.

 

John’s hand loosened its grip and Paul slowly pulled back to suckle softly at the head once more before letting John’s dick fall from his mouth, chin resting lightly on John’s knee. He closed his eyes as he felt a hand gently pet through his hair before moving lower, hooking under the collar and tugging lightly. Paul opened his eyes and got up slowly, his knees aching. He gasped as he was sharply tugged down onto the couch.

 

“Hands and knees,” John commanded, and Paul complied as John stood.

 

He shivered as John parted his cheeks and blew on his soaked hole, running a finger lightly up his thigh, collecting the slick that had been steadily leaking. Paul closed his eyes, waiting. He yelped, eyes shooting open as John dragged his tongue from his balls to his hole.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathed, pushing back against John’s face.

 

No one had ever eaten him out before - _for a reason_. Sex wasn’t about Paul’s pleasure, it was about pleasing his alpha, ensuring their satisfaction. He knew that. But _Jesus fucking Christ_ , he could get used to this, John holding him open, lapping at him with abandon. Paul couldn’t get enough. And then John was pressing his tongue into his dripping entrance, and Paul’s arms gave out, his chest dropping to the couch and _God_ if this wasn’t better. He could see John -- John’s face clouded over with lust as he fucked Paul with his tongue, and no, _nope_ , that was too much. It was one thing to feel it, _but to see it_... Paul wasn’t sure how he was actually managing to stave off his orgasm. It seemed he didn’t have to worry about holding back as John’s hand came up to stroke Paul’s cock once, twice and then Paul was spilling over the cushions, arse pushing back hard against John’s face as he fucked him through it.

 

When John pulled away, Paul collapsed on the couch, sticky with his own sweat, cum, and slick, breathing hard. He felt John lay across his back, press a kiss below his ear, as he snuggled his face against Paul’s neck.

 

“I feel better,” he mumbled, and Paul couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up, only laughing harder when John joined in, until they were both laying on the couch clutching at each other in hysterics.

 

“Jesus,” John said, gazing at Paul as he caught his breath. “I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

 

Paul smiled contentedly, brushing his nose against John’s jaw as he said quietly, “You don’t have to try, Sir.”

 

John huffed out a laugh, laying his cheek on Paul’s shoulder. His eyes swept the room lazily, until they landed on something he hadn’t expected. He sat up, reaching for the book on the coffee table.

 

“Were you reading this?” He asked, an odd feeling jumping in his chest.

 

Paul sat up, noticing the change in John, but unsure how to proceed.

 

“Yes, Sir,” he said, anxiously watching John’s face.

 

John wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He looked at Paul, scrutinizing every emotion in the boy’s eyes. There was no judgment, though. No disgust. Fear, anxiety, curiosity, but no judgment. Hm. He placed the book back on the coffee table and stood up.

 

“I’m going to go paint,” he said, suddenly yearning for the security of his studio.

 

Paul looked up.

 

“Alright, Sir,” he said. “I’ll get dinner going.”

 

John nodded, and quickly retreated to his studio. Just as he stepped in he was stopped by Paul calling him.

 

“Sir, wait!”

 

John paused, and turned to see Paul stood nervously in the hallway. He’d at least managed to get his shirt on. John raised an eyebrow.

 

“What?” He said.

 

Paul twisted the hem of his shirt as his gaze flitted around nervously. John raised an eyebrow and waited impatiently for Paul to speak.

 

“Well?” He pushed.

 

“Are you really going to get a cat?”


	6. Love Will Come To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I have returned (after two weeks....) Sorry! Finals just ended so I can finally focus on this fic! Updates should come more regularly now, don't you worry ;) Alright, on with the story!

Fuck. This was a mistake.

  
John watched Paul warily as he skipped through the shop, cooing over every animal he came across. Paul seemed to love everything -cats, dogs, bunnies, birds. It really didn’t seem to matter. John did notice that Paul seemed to gravitate toward the dogs and he wondered if he maybe should have given one a chance. He made a note to come back and look for some at a later date. For now, a cat was enough.

  
John sighed, frustrated. He was at war with himself. Paul was adorable skipping around and loving all the animals, that was true, but John couldn’t seem to focus on anything besides Paul’s collar. It just - _sat_ weird. Well, it didn’t sit weird, but it looked wrong on this image- like it was supposed to be a joke, or something. Paul just didn’t look right with the collar, but John was too scared of what that meant to ask Paul to take it off. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to quell the strange feeling in his chest. He pulled out his headphones, taking deep breaths as his music filled his head, blocking everything else out. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, and found Paul gently petting a bunny in a pen. The feeling was still there but was gradually being overtaken by affection. Not that he would tell anyone that. That was bad. Wrong. One big no-no. So he didn’t think about it. Just let himself feel it. No one had to know.

 

He smiled as Paul lifted the small thing out of the pen and cuddled it to his chest. He looked up at John, a beatific smile plastered to his face. John saw his lips move, but couldn’t hear past the wailing of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar. He pulled his headphones out.

 

“What?” He said.

 

Paul pouted. “Nothing, just said she was cute is all.”

 

John hmmed. “Sure is. But remember, we’re here for a cat, not a rabbit.”

 

Paul laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Not the rabbit, Sir. _Her_ ,” he said, nodding subtly to the woman behind the counter, who was too busy leafing through a magazine to notice anything anyway.

 

John raised an eyebrow. “You tryin’a set me up?”

 

Paul winked. “Course. You can’t just be stuck with me and a cat, Sir.”

 

John folded his arms. “What if you’re all I want?”

 

Paul’s cheeks burned but he stared John down determinedly. “I’m not.”

 

He said it so matter-of-factly, John was stumped. Paul put the rabbit back into its pen, and stood. He moved towards the cages of cats, frowning.

 

“I’m sorry you’re in there, luv?” He murmured, concerned.

 

John watched him for a moment before he turned to look again at the woman. She wasn’t really his type. He was more into humorous intellectuals than airy blondes. She was wearing a long, mustard yellow sweater over a sea foam green tank top, a silver necklace hanging from her neck where she was leaned over the counter. Her hair was messy and long, hanging over her face. He could see freckles on her pale cheeks and dusted over her gently pointed nose. She was pretty, but in an unconventional way. Still not his thing, though.

 

Suddenly Paul moved into his field of vision and struck up a conversation with her. Oh, god. John moved forward, determined to prevent Paul from convincing her of his interest, but found that it wasn’t necessary. She smiled softly, happily at Paul and moved from behind the counter (revealing a pale pink knee-length skirt - John wondered if she was color blind) to walk over to the cat cages with Paul. She knelt in front of a small grey and white striped cat and began cooing like Paul had earlier. They both laughed. Paul knelt down beside her, and John felt this weird jealousy as they began eagerly chatting. Two peas in a pod. It was crazy how different they looked but still managed to look cut from the same cloth.

  
John didn’t like it.

  
He walked over and leaned down.

 

“You see one you like?” He said to Paul, eyeing the lady coldly.

 

They both looked up.

 

“I’m not sure yet, Sir, but this one seems nice,” Paul said, gesturing to the small cat they’d been cooing over.

 

 Wait - _were there two?_

 

The lady hummed softly.

 

“There’s actually two in there, a mom and baby,” she said to John.

 

Oh, that explains it. She was American. Airy American blonde huh? Paul had low standards. Immediately the two of them began chatting again. Seems they were both interested in animals. John put his headphones back in and closed his eyes. Paul had insisted on coming right when the shop opened, and John was exhausted. He was up a good three hours before he normally would be. And he hadn’t counted on Paul taking eight years to choose a fucking animal. It’s an _animal_. That should’ve gone fast right? There was a tentative tap on his elbow and he opened his eyes.

 

“You found one then?” He asked. Paul bit his lip. “Well, we have options.” he led John over to the cat cages and began pointing them out. “We could do Sprite, she’s the white one at the end. Or we could do Kawa, this grey stripey one here, she’s got a baby, too. They’re calling her Hiku; or we could do the brown tabby next to her, Bambi. Really, they’re all wonderful, I’m not really sure if I have a preference. Are there any that catch your eye, Sir?” John scanned the cages again. Hm. He liked Bambi, but he had to admit he was drawn to the grey one - Kawa. Maybe it was just because it had a Japanese name (and he was a little obsessed these days). Oh, well. “How ‘bout the grey one, then?” He said. He watched Paul’s eyes light up and then immediately fall again. “Would we be getting them both, Sir?” He asked timidly. “Actually, we’re not selling them separately.” John turned to miss Airy Blonde - whose name, apparently, was Linda according to the now visible name tag on her shirt- and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t feel like I asked you,” he said coldly. She smiled. “You didn’t. But you probably would have, so I saved you the trouble.” John squinted at her. Was she being rude or not? He decided to ignore her as much as he could. He turned back to Paul, who was watching the two of them nervously, twisting his hands together. “We’ll get ‘em both, then.” It was like Paul’s whole body lit up with joy, and John couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. “Thank you, Sir!” Paul said, bouncing excitedly. “Yeah, yeah,” John murmured, blushing as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Alright, I can get you both taken care of over here,” Airy-Blonde-Linda said, guiding them over to the counter.

 

As John signed and paid, he avidly kept his head down and ignored the ecstatic looks from the two animal lovers. He had an ominous feeling that he’d be seeing more this eccentric American blonde. He seriously hoped he was wrong.

 

*** 

  
John nodded along with the music as he bent over his light desk, carefully tracing over his line drawing. His editor had called to let him know that his deadline was in three days and John couldn’t afford to miss another one. He’d already missed two and thought Brian might have a heart attack if he missed another. He carefully placed the completed page with his steadily growing pile, and grabbed the next. God, this was taking forever. He sat up and stretched, noticing now that he wasn’t hunched over, that his neck hurt like hell. He rubbed it, cursing softly when it did nothing. Oh! He got up and peeked out the door. He could hear Paul playing with the cats in the living room, attempting to adjust them to their new home.

 

“Paul?” He called. “Could you come here for a minute?”

 

He listened for Paul’s soft footsteps moving quickly toward him, and then he was there, and so was _that feeling_ again. Ugh. What a nuisance.

 

“Could you rub my neck?” John asked. “Of course, Sir,” Paul said, following John into his art room. John sat at his desk and leaned back, closing his eyes. He tensed when Paul’s hands gently squeezed his shoulders, and then relaxed as Paul carefully massaged his neck and shoulders. Oh, that was nice. John found himself nodding off slightly, Paul’s voice floating quietly in the air around them as he softly sang a song John hadn’t heard. He wondered dimly if Paul was making something up on the spot. And then the hands were gone from his neck, cradling his head instead.

 

“Silly man, have you slept?” Paul whispered, and God, no, he hadn’t. He’d stayed up to get this shit done and he still wasn’t finished. He tried to tell Paul that he was fine, he wasn’t tired (even if it was a blatant lie), but he was drifting, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Paul chuckled warmly in his ear.

 

“Come on, Sir, let’s get you to bed.”

 

Paul gently moved to help John up, but John felt heavy. He didn’t want to get up. He weakly pulled Paul down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around Paul’s waist, burying his nose in Paul’s chest.

 

“Donwannamove,” he mumbled. Paul pulled back, and John frowned, holding on tighter.

 

“Sir, stop, the chair’s gonna fall over!” Paul exclaimed.

 

 “No‘s fine,” John grumbled, leaning back.

 

It was almost worth the pain of smacking his head on the floor to hear Paul’s shriek. Although, Paul did land on him, which wasn’t the best feeling. John blinked as Paul quickly scrambled off of him and began helping him up, sitting him on the little armchair in the corner. John watched, more awake now but still feeling heavy with exhaustion, as Paul picked up the chair and the papers that must have fallen when they hit the desk on their way down. “Told you it’d fall,” Paul muttered, stilling as John barked out a laugh. John got up and slowly made his way over to Paul, laying down next to him on the floor. “Did any of those rip or anything?” He asked, feeling a dulled sense of dread at the idea of having to redo any of them. Paul looked over the papers in his hands. “I don’t see anything, Sir,” Paul answered. “Awesome,” John breathed, closing his eyes. It was quiet for a moment. John frowned. He reached out, feeling around for Paul until a hand gently grasped his. John tugged Paul down, Paul colliding against him with a soft “oomph.” John sighed, holding on to Paul as sleep claimed him.

 

***

  
John came to slowly. He blinked and tiredly raised his head, looking around in confusion. He was in his bed. How...? He threw back the comforter, and grabbed his glasses, folded on the nightstand, and stared at the clock, shocked. It was 6. Last time he’d checked the time, it was 11. Jesus, he’d really been out. He got up and made his way into the living room.

 

Paul was sitting on the couch reading, the cats both curled up in his lap, and a mug of tea on the coffee table. John stood awkwardly in the hallway, curious but unwilling to disturb the Omega. No, he was lying to himself: curiosity was definitely winning.

 

“Did you move me?” He croaked.

 

He snorted as Paul jumped, sending both the cats running. Paul jumped to his feet, staring wide eyed at John. “I, uh, yes. I did.”

 

John squinted at him. “How?” He demanded. He was uncomfortable with being vulnerable with anyone. He wasn’t overly fond of knowing that Paul could have done anything to him while he was out. Paul shuffled.

 

“I carried you,” he said softly, eyes to the floor.

 

John was taken aback. Paul was this skinny little thing, how the fuck did he carry John? Before John could ask anything, though, Paul was talking.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir, you just seemed like you needed the sleep so I didn’t wake you, I just carried you to bed. I know I should’ve woken you, but I just couldn’t bring myself to. And a man named Brian said he was going to stop by tomorrow to see how your project is going, which is those papers you were working on, right? I could help if you want, Sir, it seemed like this deadline was important. Of course, I’d need to know what you’re doing, but if you don’t need me to help, I can also stay out of your way, too! Or I can bring you snacks and drinks and stuff, I can get whatever you need! I can-“

 

“Jesus, shut up!” John snapped, overwhelmed.

 

Paul’s jaw snapped shut, and he bowed his head, shoulders hunched. John took a steadying breath.

 

“Alright, so,” John started, trying to remember everything Paul said. “First, it’s fine. Next time, wake me up, though, I can move meself. Brian’s coming tomorrow?” Paul nodded. John cursed. He still had 11 pages to go. “You might be able to help me,” he said slowly. “We’ll talk about that later, though. Right now, I need to eat.”

 

Paul straightened up and moved into the kitchen. “What sounds good, Sir?”

 

“Dunno,” he said, moving to help Hiku rejoin Kawa on the couch. “Macaroni?”

 

“Alright,” Paul called, and John sat with cats on the couch as Paul got some water boiling. He picked up Paul’s book, and felt his stomach do a weird swoop. _The Complete Tales And Poems of Edgar Allan Poe_. Seems Paul was going through John’s favorites. He opened to a random page and started reading, happily losing himself in tales of Parisian catacombs and busted walls. He missed being able to lose himself in a book. He lazily rubbed Kawa’s head as he read, enjoying the sounds and smells of Paul in the kitchen as he did. He felt something crawling on his stomach and moved the book, smiling as he saw Hiku stumbling on his chest. “Hey there, little guy,” he said, placing the book on the back of the couch and reaching for the kitten. He felt his chest tighten as the kitten mewled. He gently pet the thing’s head, cooing quietly at her. He picked her up as he sat up, cuddling her to his chest as he turned on the TV. He flipped through the various shows and movies on Netflix, frowning. Nothing sounded good.

 

“Anything you wanna watch?” He called over his shoulder.

 

“Something funny? Maybe that new John Mulaney special?” Paul replied.

 

What?

 

“Who’s John Mulaney?” He asked.

 

Paul walked over to sit next him. “He’s a comedian,” he said, holding his hand out.

 

John stared at it and, after a moment’s hesitation, threaded his fingers through Paul’s. Paul blinked confusedly at their joined hands. “What’re you doing?” He asked, bewildered. John looked up at him, blushing slightly, to his annoyance.

 

“Nothing,” he grumbled, yanking his hand away. God, if only he could stop fucking _blushing_. He busied himself playing with Hiku, ignoring Paul’s eyes boring into him. “Hey,” Paul whispered, gently laying his hand on John’s arm. “You can hold my hand if you like,” he said, offering his hand. John blushed harder and continued petting the kitten. “What the fuck did you want in the first place?” He grumbled. God, this was embarrassing. Paul laughed lightly. “I was going for the remote.” John could hear the smile in his voice and wanted to hide even more. “Well ye could’ve just asked,” he mumbled, shoving the remote into Paul’s outstretched hand. Paul was quiet as he got whatever the hell it was he wanted to watch set up. John was grateful that he found himself actually really enjoying it, and his embarrassment slowly ebbed, that is until Paul’s hand gently rested on his. John looked over to see Paul staring pointedly ahead, eyes fixed on the screen. Paul snorted at something the guy said, and John found himself smiling along. He turned back to the TV, interlocking his fingers with Paul’s. A couple minutes later the timer went off and Paul got up and disappeared into the kitchen. John paused the TV and gently set Hiku down on the ground before following Paul.

 

“Anything I can do to help?” He asked pausing in the doorway. Paul looked over at him strangely. “You wanna help?” He asked in confusion, slowly adding the pasta into the water. John shrugged. “I mean, I know this is what you do, but I kinda feel bad making you do everything. Call it a side effect of dating Yoko.” Paul looked at him with an unreadable expression. “Alright,” he said, turning back to the pot of boiling water. “You can start cutting the vegetables. There’s broccoli, celery, carrots, and peppers in the fridge.” “Righto,” John said, mock saluting Paul, before he got everything out.

 

As he cut, he asked Paul questions that he’d been struggling to do eye to eye. “How old are you?” He heard Paul snort. “Did you even look at my file, Sir?” He asked playfully. “Nah, too boring. ‘D rather hear it from you,” he said. “‘M 21, Sir.” John stopped and stared at Paul. “You’re 21?” He asked. Jesus, he could’ve sworn the kid was only 17, 18 at the oldest. Paul smiled as he stirred the pasta. “I look younger than I am, Sir.” John went back to cutting.

 

“How many owners have you had?”

 

“I’ve only had one family before you, Sir.”

 

“Your parents?”

 

“What about them?”

 

“When did you leave them?”

 

Paul shrugged. “I think I was maybe, 9? 8? Somewhere around there.”

 

John frowned. “Your parents sold you when you were 9?”

 

“No, Sir. My parents never sold me. I was kidnapped off the playground at school.”

 

John turned sharply, staring at Paul incredulously. “You’re shitting me,” he breathed.

 

Paul shrugged again. “Not as uncommon as people like to think. Sir,” he added belatedly, cheeks heating slightly. John didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly wasn’t aware that was happening. He noticed dully that he’d done more than enough carrots for just the two of them and moved on to celery.

 

“What were your parents like?” He asked, almost morbidly curious as to this kid’s life.

 

“From what I can remember, they were pretty nice.” Paul turned the heat down as the pot began to boil over. “Me mum was a nurse and Da was a salesman of some sort. Don’t really remember of what, though. Had a brother, too. Two years younger’n me. Alpha. Used to play together all the time. Bet he’s at university now,” Paul said, smiling widely. “Mind you, he’s got a bit of an attitude problem, so maybe not.”

 

John wanted to smile, but there was something bothering him. “When’s the last time you saw them?” He asked, doing his best to sound casual.

 

Paul frowned. “Uh, probably the morning I was kidnapped.” John paused, squeezed his eyes shut. That was what he was afraid of.

 

“Do you miss them?” He asked quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the cutting board.

 

Paul shrugged. “I did. In the beginning. But, you know, it’s been years. I mean, I _miss_ them, but I know I belong here, with you. I never belonged with them, or I’d be there now, wouldn’t I, Sir?” He said jokingly.

 

John swallowed. “I suppose,” he whispered, resuming his cutting.

 

John couldn’t bring himself to ask any more questions. He could feel the guilt building as he thought about Pau being kidnapped when he was _9 fucking years old_ and then forced into _slavery_ , and _then_ , to top it all off, actually believing that he shouldn’t be seeing his own fucking family because some gross alpha pedo took a liking to him one lonely day. He quietly finished cutting the vegetables, lost in thought. He looked over at Paul when he was done, watched him carefully pouring the pasta into a strainer. “What do you want me to do now?” He asked. Paul looked over. “You wanna steam them now?” He suggested.

 

“Sure.”

 

As John moved the vegetables into a pan, he thought. Paul seemed to light up talking about his family. And John was slowly growing addicted to his smile. It was beautiful, it lit up everything around him. What could he do to keep him smiling? Maybe they could visit Paul’s family? He peeked at Paul, happily humming while he worked. Hm. There was an idea. He’d have to track them down, but he didn’t see that being overly difficult. He decided he’d wait to talk to Paul about it until he was sure it was doable.

 

He hoped it was, so that he could see that smile again.

 

Anything for that smile.

 

 


	7. Warm and Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here y'all go;) Enjoy!

Paul hummed happily, sucking on his finger as he turned on the water with his wrist. John had left about an hour earlier and Paul had wandered around until it had come into his head to make some cookies. Oatmeal raisin had been the obvious choice, if only because those were the ingredients they had available. Paul definitely needed to do some shopping. He’d been meaning to ask John when he could go, but John had been pretty stressed lately and had been going out more, especially since his manager, Brian, had stopped by. Paul’d been sent into the bedroom and had heard shouting pretty quickly after. He’d tried not to listen -he’d never been good with shouting, and after a while Brian had left and John had come to get him. But then John had left, slamming the door behind him. Paul didn’t like it when John left. Not that going out was abnormal for John, but it seemed he was going out for longer than he used to. Paul tried not to think too hard about it, because the conclusion he usually came to was that he was somehow bothering the alpha. Which was a bad thought, and a nerve-wracking one, too. He wasn’t exactly sure what he could have done to annoy John, but he was certain he had something to do with his stress.

  
So Paul didn’t think about it.

  
Instead, he cooked and cleaned and read and sang — things he knew, things that could distract him.

  
Speaking of distractions.

  
Paul slipped on his oven mitt as he turned the timer off on the oven, pulling it open and eagerly taking out the first sheet of cookies. He put the second cookie sheet in then got to work setting little dough balls on a third sheet.

  
He was bouncing lightly to the tune in his head, swaying his hips as he organized the cookie sheet in rows of four when the front door slammed open. Paul jumped and dropped the dough ball he’d been molding, immediately fumbling to catch it before it hit the ground as John thundered down the hall shouting, “Paul, I got you something!” Paul looked up, startled, as John came in and leaned on the breakfast bar, a small white bag in his hand.

 

“You did?” He asked, head tilted slightly in confusion.

 

“I did!” John said, excited little grin lighting his face as he held out the bag for Paul to take. Paul wiped his hands on his shirt and took the proffered bag, feeling nervous with John’s excited eyes watching him intently.

 

It took a moment before he understood what the small white box he held carefully in his palm was and what it meant. He flicked his gaze from his hand up to John, who was bouncing with excitement, like a child.

 

“Do you like it?” He asked, biting his lip eagerly. Paul glanced back at his hand and nodded, speechless. Paul couldn’t believe it — John had gotten him a _smartphone_. Paul had only used one a couple of times, and it had never been _his_. Paul looked up when John huffed, confused to see him turned away with his arms crossed.

 

“Sir?” He asked tentatively.

 

“If you don’t like it, just fucking give it back,” John snapped.

 

Paul paused, looking apprehensively at John before he slowly approached him, gently settling a hand on his arm. “I like it, Sir. Thank you very much,” he said softly. John grumbled something incoherent, making Paul laugh. He rested his chin on John’s shoulder and murmured, “Could you teach me how to use it, please?”

 

John sulked for a moment longer, and then, as he opened his mouth to respond the oven went off. Paul jumped and rushed to turn the timer off, leaving the phone on the counter as he quickly pulled the cookies out of the oven. He replaced them with the last cookie sheet and turned back to find John already digging in to the finished ones. Paul lightly smacked John’s hand away. “Wait until after dinner,” he scolded mildly, feigning irritation. John grinned around a mouthful of cookie. “Okay,” he said, laughing when Paul pulled away in disgust.

 

“Here, hand me the phone,” John said after he swallowed, sitting at the breakfast bar with his hand outstretched. Paul turned to John, eyebrow raised, waiting. “Well?” John said, looking at Paul expectantly. Paul fought a smile and raised his hands so John could see that he didn’t have it. He laughed quietly as John looked confusedly at his empty palms, before he gave in and said, “It’s in front of you, Sir.” John looked down at the counter blankly, blushing when he saw the phone by his hand. “I knew that,” he mumbled. Paul giggled at John’s red ears.

 

John kept his head down as he opened up the box and pulled out the phone. “C’mere,” John said. Paul did as he was told and sat next to John, looking at the phone curiously. “So,” John started, grabbing a charger and plugging the phone in. “I thought it would be easier for us to communicate this way. If you need something, you can just text me, and vice versa. Saves us both a lot of time. Also, if you’ve got any other friends or anything you can put them in your contacts- what?” Paul bit his lip, fighting a smile. “I don’t have any friends, Sir.” It was kind of cute that John that an Omega would have _friends_.

 

John frowned. “Well, you can put George and Ritchie in, then.”

 

Paul shrugged. “If you like, Sir.”

 

John sighed. “I don’t want me to be the only contact you have. If there’s an emergency and you can’t reach me, I want you to have other people you can rely on.”

 

Paul bit his lip, worried. “Do you think there’ll be an emergency, Sir?” He watched John shrug and tried to stamp down on his building anxiety, even as he felt his eyes widen and his breathing pick up a bit. “I piss people off enough for it to at least be a possibility, even if it’s a low one.” Paul nodded mutely at his lap. Was John suggesting that someone might break in? That had happened before, with his last family... he’d been home alone... no, Alpha Rick had been there... or, no wait, was it Alpha Max...? Someone had been and they’d watched...  


“Paul?”

  
He looked up at the sound of his name, pulled all too gratefully out of a memory he usually actively ignored to find John looking at him, his eyes intense, brows knitted in concern. “Yes?” Paul asked softly. John pulled back slightly (had he really been that close?), shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t really think someone’s gonna break in. But, you know,” he shrugged helplessly. “Just in case. You can call the police or something. Or me. Or, you know, whoever.” John blushed and nervously fiddled with the phone. Paul felt his heartbeat slow again, his breathing evening out as John began to launch into an explanation of how to navigate the phone. When the oven went off, he took the cookies out, brining two with him when he returned to John, just so he could see John’s almost childlike excitement. He liked it when John was happy. It made him feel like he was doing something right.  


 

 

  
In the end John put several contacts into his phone. He’d put himself (obviously), along with George and Ritchie, and a few people Paul hadn’t heard about - Julia, Mimi, Stu, Astrid, and Pete. Apparently, Julia and Mimi were relatives of John, both described as his mother when Paul asked; Stu, Astrid, and Pete were friends of his that he trusted. Paul assumed that he’d probably meet them all at some point, or he at least hoped he would. He wanted to know the people close to John.

 

He found it funny that he’d been so scared of John in the beginning, but he was slowly seeing the less ‘exciting’ view of him, the one the media didn’t care as much about. John was kind and smart and funny. He seemed to care about keeping Paul happy, which was nice a nice change. Paul wondered if that was going to last. His stomach squeezed with anxiety and he quickly pushed that thought into the Do-not-touch box in his head.

 

John had also let him get whichever games he wanted, and Paul’d spent the rest of the afternoon playing on his phone. It had been nice having John with him, though. John had stayed with him, helping him with his phone whenever he got confused, which was, unfortunately, often.

  
Paul was laying on the couch playing a puzzle game, his head on John’s lap, John’s hand absently running through his hair, when John’s phone started ringing. John cursed and quickly accepted the call, gently moving Paul as he stood up and walked into the kitchen. “Hey, Mimi,” Paul heard as John walked off. Paul sat back against the couch, curiosity and guilt warring as he battled whether or not he should listen in. He worried his lip, but curiosity was winning regardless. John wasn’t exactly a quiet person. “Yeah, I know, I know- Yes, Mimi, I’m _sorry_ , I know I forgot to call, I- Yes, I’ve been busy, I-“ Paul turned, saw John wince at the sink. “Oh, you saw that.” John turned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I was gonna tell you.”

 

So this was John’s... mother?

 

“Yeah, he’s good, he’s nice. Name’s Paul. Bloody good musician, he is.”

 

Why did John call her by her first name?

 

“I mean, we could probably come down sometime. I’ve got a couple more pages ‘fore I’m done with this next book, probably’ll be done with that in a couple weeks.”

 

Paul watched John idly, chin resting on his hand, noticing as a smile slowly worked its way onto his face that John’s arse looked fucking great his shorts. It probably didn’t help that John was sticking it out. Paul blushed, moving to hide his mouth behind his hand. God, _what was he thinking?_

 

“Yeah, I’m still painting. Couldn’t really stop if I tried, you know,” John paused, looking up at the window over the sink, and Paul felt his heart stop. John’s face was lit by the light from the window, bringing out the red in his hair, adding definition to his nose, his _eyes_. Paul stared openly, unable to look away. He was mystified. John turned and they looked eyes for a moment. There was this sort of fiery intensity flowing between them. Paul licked his lips. He wanted to do.... _something_. His fingers were twitching, itching to play something. Then he felt it, that familiar feeling like a river crashing through his body, tingling in his toes through to his fingertips until it reached his head, bursting in a cloud of words and sounds and then he was up, moving quickly toward the music room, John’s “Nah, we’ll come to you, Mimi,” disappearing in the blaring symphony in his mind.

 

He grabbed one the guitars, flipped it over, and the sounds in his head, everything that was rushing, screaming, crooning, was coming out, was blazing out in an endless stream from his mouth, his guitar, and he wasn’t thinking, didn’t need to. This was all a _feeling_. A raw, intense, _beautiful_ feeling that clouded his head and he’d _never felt anything like this_. What the hell was this?

 

  
He was blankly aware of John standing in the doorway, but it didn’t register enough to stop him. He didn’t think that anything could’ve stopped him at this point. He did find himself once again locking eyes with John, and that _intensity_ was back, and if anything it invigorated Paul even more, until he felt like he was screaming this feeling, even though he knew that he was singing softly, gently - a strange sort of juxtaposition between his mind and reality.

  
Just as quickly as they came, the words stopped, and his fingers played one last chord before silence fell. Paul became very aware of his heartbeat, the sound of his breathing, and he realized that John was holding his phone up - _Paul’s phone_ \- even while John’s own was still pressed to his ear. Paul froze. _John was still on the phone_. His eyes widened. “Sorry, Sir,” he breathed.

 

John huffed out a laugh. “You hear that, Mimi? He _apologized_. Jesus Christ, this kid.” John stared at him, eyes twinkling. “You’re amazing, Paul,” he said quietly. Paul felt pride rise in his chest. He’d pleased John.

 

John rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Mimi, I’m allowed to praise him, aren’t I?” A pause. “Well, he’s mine, so I don’t see what you plan on doin’ about it.”

 

John turned, beckoning Paul to follow him, and Paul moved quickly to obey, following John back into the kitchen. Paul waited quietly off to the side, feeling nervous and happy all at once. He watched John smile softly. “Yeah, love you, too, Mimi. I’ll let you know when I’m done with that book, k?” John looked up at the ceiling, fondly exasperated. “ _I get it_. Fine. Yeah, bye.” John hung up, and turned to Paul. “So,” he started. Paul fidgeted nervously, fingers tightening on the neck of the guitar - _shit_. He thought he’d left that back in the music room. John leaned back against the counter, arms folded. “What were you playing?” Paul eyes flitted around the room. “I don’t know, Sir.” John pursed his lips. “You telling me you wrote that?” He asked incredulously. “I guess, Sir,” Paul shrugged. John stared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment before sighing and rubbing his face with his hands. He dropped them and stared at Paul, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Where have you been all my life,” he breathed, an awed smile plastered to his face.

 

Paul felt elated, he couldn’t stop smiling for the life of him.

 

“Let’s play something, then, come on,” John said, dragging Paul back to the music room. Paul sat on the floor, guitar ready in his arms. He played a few chords experimentally and then looked up at John, waiting for his command. John raised an eyebrow playfully. “You’re holding that wrong, luv,” he deadpanned. Paul shrugged. “‘M a leftie, Sir.” John blanked. “Oh,” he said, looking around, before his eyes finally landed on Paul again. “Guess we better get you a left handed guitar then, huh?” Paul’s heart jumped. “Sir, you don’t have to do that,” he pleaded. “You’ve already given me a phone. I really don’t need anything else.”

 

John looked at him. “Let me get you stuff. I wanna give you stuff, son,” John grumbled. Paul shrunk a little and said, “Alright, Sir, of course. Thank you.” John reached out and ruffled Paul’s hair. “Let me treat you. I’ve got the money and the time and god knows I’ve got the desire.” He laughed. “There’s something you can thank Yoko for. Didn’t use to give a shit about other people, really, until she came along and told me that she wasn’t gonna put up with that. Christ, she put me through hell, but I’ve never been more grateful in my life.”

 

John quieted, reached down to gently pet Kawa as she rubbed against his leg. Paul scooped up Hiku as she wandered over to sniff at the guitar and gently nuzzled her little head. “Sounds like she was good for you,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the kitten in his hand.

 

“Yeah,” John trailed off. “Right, well, let’s get on with it, then,” John said, slapping the guitar and accidentally scaring Kawa away. Paul set Hiku down, and looked up John. “What are we playing, then?” He asked. “Whatever you were playing earlier,” John said, grinning. Paul blushed. “I don’t remember what I was playing, Sir,” he murmured, apologetic. “It’s fine, I got it here,” John said, pulling out Paul’s phone. Paul stared at it, realization dawning on him. “Were you recording me, Sir?” He asked, baffled. John grinned mischievously. “Sure was,” he snipped lightly.

 

When listened to the recording, Paul found himself completely absorbed. He’d never heard himself before. He looked up at John, eyes wide with excitement. “Is that what I sound like?” “Well this sure ain’t me,” John replied, eyebrow raised, smiling. Paul couldn’t believe it. “I sound good,” he breathed, elated. John breathed a laugh. “Yeah. Didn’t you know?” Paul shook his head, leaning his chest on the guitar as he listened to himself. God, he wrote that?

 

“You really are amazing, you know,” John said when the song finished. Paul looked up him, his eyes shining. John looked at Paul, obviously trying to say something. He opened his mouth, then, “I wanna write with you.” Paul blinked. “Okay,” he said. John looked taken aback. “Okay?” Paul nodded enthusiastically. “That’d be amazing, Sir, really. I’d love that.” John blushed, but kept his eyes locked on Paul’s. “Great,” he said, a bright smile lighting his face. Paul couldn’t wait to start writing with John. Writing _music_. With _John_. He couldn’t think of anything better.

 

 


	8. Joking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's literally been a month since I posted but we're gonna pretend it hasn't been and we're gonna focus on a new chapter! Yay! Here ya go, my lovlies;) Next chapter will not take a month I swear ;D

Paul woke up to sloppy kisses pressed to his face, a heavy body draped over his.   
  
“Sir?” He asked, groggy.   
  
John let out a soft groan and ground his hips roughly against Paul’s. John pulled the blanket off of Paul and started tugging messily at his boxers.   
  
“Off,” he slurred, trying and failing to drag them off with one hand, the other occupied in Paul’s hair.   
  
Paul carefully reached down to help, throwing them off the side of the bed. John groaned appreciatively and ground down again. Paul winced at the chafing feeling of John’s jeans pressing against his dick. John cursed and sat up shakily to fumble with the button on his pants. Paul watched him struggle for a moment before he reached out and gently moved John’s hands so he could take over. John grinned drunkenly and stood up to take his pants off, but, _shit_. Paul winced as John hit the floor.   
  
“It’s okay, easier down here,” John said, laughing stupidly, and then he was up again, crawling over Paul on the bed. “‘M okay,” he said, thrusting against Paul. “Let me, please, baby, let me,” John moaned, and Paul made a face but forced himself to stay still as John pushed his tongue in his ear.   
  
“Of course you can, Sir-“

John shook his head roughly, both groaning as his head collided painfully with Paul’s. “Nono, John, ‘m John, John, please, baby, just — John, k?”   
  
Paul ignored the ache in his head to eye John hesitantly. John was _wasted_. And desperate. Paul reached out to gently run his fingers through John’s hair, soothing him gently.   
  
“Alright, John, Alright. You can, hun, it’s alright, you don’t have to ask, you know that,” he whispered, spreading his legs a little wider, bringing them up to lock around John’s waist.   
  
Paul knew this wasn’t going to be good for him, but it didn’t matter. Outside of it being his duty to please John, he found himself genuinely wanting to sooth him. He didn’t mind letting John take him if it meant that John was _here_ , not out drinking and hurting by himself. He’d noticed over the last couple weeks that John could be fine for a few days or so, maybe a week, and then he’d have a really bad day or two, and the cycle would start over. His bad days were scary. Those were the days Paul could see John becoming what he’d always known alphas to be; aggressive, domineering, _physical_. But John like this was good, this was John seeking to be close, telling Paul without telling him that he needed comfort and support. Paul was all too happy to give them, unconditionally. He’d grown very fond of John. So he ignored the pain of John entering him, let John take him, soothing him when he felt John’s tears wet his shoulder. When John stopped halfway through, shoulders shaking, Paul gently rubbed his back.   
  
“Come on, luv, it’s okay,” he murmured.   
  
John shook his head against Paul’s neck, choking on a sob, and Paul, alarmed, held on to John tightly when he collapsed fully against him.   
  
“It’s not, it’s not, it’s not,” John cried against Paul’s neck.   
  
“Shhh, John, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed, playing with the soft hairs on the back of John’s neck. Paul’s chest constricted painfully as John made this horrible sort of wheezing noise in the back of his throat, hands moving up to fist in Paul’s hair. He felt John’s mouth moving against his neck, knew he was saying something, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what. He caught a few words, “wet,” and “you,” and “can’t,” odd snippets here and there that made no sense on their own. Paul kept playing gently with John’s hair.   
  
“Shhh, Johnny, I- I can’t understand you, luv. What’s wrong?”   
  
John shook his head, trying, impossibly, to move closer. Paul winced when his movements shifted John inside him. He’d been too tired and worried to get anywhere near turned on enough to get wet, so John had gone in dry. Not a particularly unusual thing in Paul’s life, though.   
  
Paul breathed deeply, exhausted and worried and in pain, and held John carefully as he turned to his side, moving so that John slowly slid out of him. John whimpered quietly and Paul quickly moved to pull John back to him, rubbing his back as he tucked John’s head under his chin. Paul didn’t know how long they lay there, John crying quietly in his chest and Paul petting his hair, his back, but eventually John fell asleep and only then did Paul allow himself to drift off again.  
  
  
John was useless the next day, hungover, exhausted, and bitter in his embarrassment, so Paul didn’t bother asking any questions. He made John drink some water, and sat with him and the cats in bed, alternating between reading, messing around on his phone, and watching something quiet on the TV.   
  
He was curious. John had been happy. They’d been laughing and writing, something John had been asking to do with Paul almost every day since he’d first discovered Paul’s interest, and John had only gone out to spend some time with a friend of his – _Stu_ , he’d said. He was only supposed to be gone for a couple hours, but when midnight had rolled around, Paul hadn’t been able to keep himself awake and gone off to bed, assuming that John was probably staying with someone else that night.  
  
Paul’s hand, which had been gently playing with John’s hair, paused briefly in its ministrations as a thought occurred to him. Maybe something had happened that made John drink that heavily? Paul grabbed his phone (a thought that still made him giddy) off of the nightstand, quickly checked that John was asleep again, then opened up google. He sat for a moment, pondering over how to phrase his search, before settling on yesterday’s date.  And, to his shock, that worked. It didn’t take a lot of digging to find an announcement for an album by Yoko Ono, entitled _For a Love Lost And a Lesson Learned_. Paul cringed. Yikes. No wonder John had been a mess. Paul set the phone aside and got up to make John some tea and soup. He couldn’t change what had already happened, but he could make sure that John would be okay for the future. 

  
  
John woke to gentle fingers running through his hair and something soft brushing his cheek. He stayed a moment, unwilling to leave the peace he found himself resting in.   
  
“Johnny, luv, come on. I’ve got some soup here, and some tea.”   
  
John kept breathing slowly, content. Tea didn’t sound bad, though. Eh, he’d give it another minute. Paul chuckled.   
  
“Sir, I know you’re awake. Come on, it won’t stay hot forever.”  
  
Ugh.   
  
John groaned as he slowly raised his head, squinting against the light of the bedside lamp to see Kawa curled up on his pillow. He gently stroked her fur as he looked up at Paul sat on the edge of the bed, eyes warm with amusement. John gave his least convincing grin and felt something very nice in chest when Paul rolled his eyes and laughed. Paul grabbed a bowl from the nightstand and held it out as John slowly propped himself up. John took the proffered bowl gratefully. Damn, his hangover had been horrible earlier. At least now he could move without feeling like he was going to throw up.   
  
John sipped his soup and was pleasantly surprised.   
  
“This is fucking good,” he observed, shocked.   
  
Paul beamed. “I’m glad you like it. It’s homemade.”   
  
John held an arm out for Paul to snuggle under. “Jesus, how did I ever get on without you,” he smiled, nuzzling his nose into Paul’s soft hair.   
  
Paul giggled into John’s shoulder. “You did just fine without me, Sir.” Paul gently wrapped his arms around John’s waist. “But I’m much happier here. With you,” he added quietly, smiling up at John.   
  
John felt his stomach flutter and hid his blush behind the bowl in his hand. It was quiet for a moment, and then-   
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
John really shouldn’t be left alone with his thoughts. It doesn’t take too long before they fester and mold into a tormenting pool of acidic self-reflection.   
  
Paul hummed. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Sir,” he answered quietly, moving to brush his nose against John’s throat.   
  
John’s grip on Paul tightened. “I do. I-” he stopped, his heart hammering and his chest aching with guilt as memories of the night before rushed forward. “Jesus,” he breathed, shaky. “I- fuck, Paul, I- _I raped you._ ”   
  
Paul’s head snapped up. “You fucking did not,” and John hadn’t seen Paul look like that, hadn’t heard that intensity in his voice.   
  
Paul was- _Paul was angry_.   
  
Paul gently but firmly grabbed John’s chin, made John look him in the eye. “What you did is the best thing I could have asked for.” John opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by Paul’s piercing stare. “I’ve seen what happens when Alphas bottle things up, when they look to- to _dominate_. _That’s_ when it turns nasty, John. What you did, what you _wanted_ last night had nothing to do with claiming me, or at least it wasn’t your main motivation. You wanted comfort. And you never, _ever_ have to explain yourself to me. I’m here for _you_. I love you and care for you and want with everything that I am for you to be happy. I’ve been raped, John. That wasn’t what it was like.”   
  
Paul’s eyes softened, his hand moving to cup John’s cheek, as he laughed quietly. “You know, I’m not supposed to know what rape is. And you’re not supposed to consider me able to be raped. We make an interesting team, huh, Sir?”   
  
John nodded minutely, trying to process everything. Paul had been raped, but not by him. He wanted to ask, but was terrified of the answer. But Paul had also said that he wasn’t even supposed to know what that meant. He wasn’t, was he? And why did John keep thinking of Paul like a- a _person?_ Capable of feeling and thinking and wanting and all the things he allowed alphas to be but never omegas. He’d practically been conditioned to hardly consider omegas even _human_. But Paul did think and feel and want. Paul was a person. There was intelligence in his eyes and something else that made John feel like Paul was just waiting for an opportunity to shine, to exist properly. John wanted to know what that Paul would be like if given the chance to live freely.  
  
“Hey, stop that,” Paul berated kindly, lightly tapping John’s nose. “You think too much.”   
  
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” John rasped out. He hadn’t planned on saying it, but as it left his mouth he knew it was true. He wanted Paul always smiling and happy, surrounded by music and books and animals. Warm and safe and happy. Forever.   
  
“You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?” Paul quipped softly, smiling fondly. He leaned forward and gently kissed John. “You haven’t hurt me yet, Sir,” he murmured against John’s mouth.   
  
“I still might,” John’s whispered back, trying not to douse Paul in soup.   
  
Paul shrugged. “If you do, oh well. If you don’t, wow, are you even human?”   
  
John pulled away slightly, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “You expect me to hurt you, then?” He wasn’t sure he succeeded in keeping his voice level.   
  
Paul gave a single, tight nod. “Would be impossible for you not to, Sir, for two reasons. One,” Paul said, lifting a single finger. “You’re an alpha. In my experience, pain tends to come with the territory for one reason or another. And two, you’ve been hurt. Recently. That’s bound to add to something, right? I’m not saying I expect you to hit me- well, I do, but not for the reasons you think,” Paul said, cutting off John’s interjection. “It’s normal to give an Omega regular beatings. I thought last night was going to be way worse than it was, actually, but it turned out alright.”  
  
Paul studied John for a moment before he smiled and shook his head. He rested his head on John’s shoulder. “You should be giving me a beating right now, actually. God, I’d’ve been crucified if I’d spoken like that two months ago. Out of turn, bold, presumptuous, all” Paul sat up and made an angry, sort of posh looking face. “‘Who do you think you are, boy? How dare you speak to me like that, you bitch. Do what you’re supposed to and bend over.’”   
  
Paul giggled, and looked at John.  John wasn’t laughing. He was too horrified.   
  
Paul smiled awkwardly, cheeks red. “Right, well,” Paul nervously played with the hem of John’s shirt. “Why don’t you just have your soup and tea and we’ll just watch a movie or something, yeah?”   
  
John nodded.   
  
Good god. What the fuck kind of life had Paul lived?

  
  
That night as they lay in bed, John passed out on Paul’s chest and Paul’s hand gently resting in John’s hair, the cats both between his legs, Paul thought about John.   
  
So. He wasn’t overly fond of Paul talking about past experiences. Got it. No more talk of old alphas. That’s doable.   
  
But John also thought he was raping Paul, which was a problem because he wasn’t. Well, Paul didn’t feel like he was. He’d been enlightened as to what rape was by his alpha’s son, when he’d been recently converted to omega rights activism and had taken it upon himself to tell Paul all of his rights. He’d learned a hell of a lot about what his rights were supposed to be but he didn’t think they were real. No one really cared if he was ‘properly treated’. The police weren’t knocking down people’s doors because an alpha got a little overly zealous with his Omega’s punishment.  
  
Paul threaded his fingers through John’s hair. It would be nice, he thought, if people did care. Like John. He seemed to care. He didn’t like hurting Paul and had looked so distraught at the idea of raping him. Which was nice.   
  
Really, John was a sweetheart. Paul smiled down at John’s peaceful form and felt his stomach flutter. It was like a scene from a movie: the moonlight perfectly illuminating John’s face, long eyelashes fluttering gently against his cheeks, lengthy curls falling into his face, moving with his breath. This man was wonderful. Perfection and all the little blights that go with it. He never wanted to leave this moment, this life. Oh, good. He actually wanted to be with his alpha. This was new.   
  
Aaaaand if he was going to tell John that, he should maybe switch around his wording. No reminders of his old life, and all that. Which was fine. Paul didn’t really like thinking about it, anyway.  
  
_Oh, God_. Paul brought his unoccupied hand up to cover his eyes in embarrassment. He’d been way too forward already with John. He flat out fucking told him he loved him. _He said they were a team_. Jesus Christ he had to remember his place. John = alpha, Paul = Omega. _Keep it straight, Paul_. Just because John allowed him to speak that way didn’t mean he should. If John’s friends ever heard Paul speak that way to his alpha they’d be mortified. It could ruin John. Paul lowered his hand in shame. Why was he so fucking bad at thinking like a proper Omega?   
  
He closed his eyes, irritatedly fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. He reopened them when something soft pressed gently into his stomach. He gave a watery smile to Kawa as she padded up his chest and reached out to gently stroke her head. She curled up under his arm, head on his chest, purring contentedly.   
  
Paul suddenly felt very loved laying here with the cats and his alpha. He felt- no. No, he was an _Omega_ , he _belonged_ to John. He wasn’t supposed to think about what things could be like if he didn’t. This was always his issue. He thought too much.

 

 

Aaaaand the bad mood was back.   
  
Okay, new plan: don’t think. At all. Thinking is bad. Paul is bad at thinking. Or is he too good at thinking? He does it a lot, but it usually makes him feel terrible. So, bad, then.

Paul gently stroked Kawa’s back.

Thinking too much, mood swings, bold behavior – shit. He was going to have to talk to John about whether or not he wanted Paul to be on suppressants. If so, he guessed he maybe had two weeks before he’d start his heat. Maybe. Roughly.

Would John want to spend his heat with him? He wanted to know how John would be. Would he be roughly, aggressive, fucking Paul into the mattress? Or would he be gentle, all long loving strokes and tender kisses? Paul felt himself blushing and bit his lip on his excited smile.

And he was thinking again.  

 

 


	9. I've Got A Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait (again) things are a little hectic right now because i'm getting ready to move to college, but being there should help establish a routine which is something that really helps me focus- which means longer chapters and faster updates!

“We’re going on an adventure!” 

 

Paul looked up from his book, eyebrows raised. John bounced happily in the doorway. It had taken a lot of work, but he’d finally managed to track down a family in Liverpool that fit Paul’s description. The McCartneys, a nice family of two down in Allerton. John hadn’t actually contacted them, yet, though. He’d planned a little trip to Liverpool where he and Paul were going to stay with Mimi (who he had already contacted because he cared about his livelihood) so if contact with the McCartneys didn’t go well, he didn’t need to bring his plan up with Paul. He’d just have to try again.

 

Paul set the book on his lap. “What kind of adventure?” He asked. John grinned excitedly seeing the mischievous gleam in Paul’s eye. 

 

“Well,” he started, moving forward to flop on the couch next to Paul. “We’re gonna meet up with Georgie and Rings and their lady friends and we’re gonna get some stuff and then we’re gonna go on holiday. You in?” 

 

Paul gave him an amused look. “Are you actually giving me a choice?” He asked, teasing. John shifted to lay his head in Paul’s lap, looked up at him, and winked. “Nah,” he said. “You’ve gotta go, lad.” 

 

Paul sighed dramatically. “If you insist,” he said, put out, but John saw right through to the excitement and curiosity in his eyes. 

 

John brought a hand up to lightly pat Paul’s cheek. “You’ll have fun, I promise,” he offered, giggling as Paul made a face but didn’t move away from John’s pats. Paul smirked suddenly and pulled John’s hand away from his face. John’s giggles turned to full blown laughter as Paul used John’s hand to start smacking John in the face. “I suppose that’s possible,” he said around a laugh. 

 

John brought his other hand up to grab Paul’s wrist and gently tugged it down to place a gentle kiss on the pulse point. He smiled up at Paul. “It’ll be great,” he whispered, lips brushing Paul’s soft skin. Paul’s cheeks were dusted pink. “Okay,” he breathed, ghost of a bewildered smile on his lips.

 

 

 

An hour later John and Paul were sat in a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant waiting for the others to arrive. Paul had looked very embarrassed when John had insisted to the very flustered waiter that Paul was going to sit at the table with the group instead of on a kneeling pad beside John. An extra chair had been grabbed and the kneeling pad removed and Paul had sat down gingerly, wide eyes shifting to all the baffled faces staring at him. He looked at John, busy studying the menu, and tried to calm his frantically beating heart. He was making an absolute fool of John, he knew it. _But John didn’t care_. Why didn’t he care? 

 

“Hey guys.”

 

Paul looked up and plastered a bright grin on his face as Ritchie walked up with who must have been his girlfriend, Maureen, he thinks John said her name was. He must not have looked right though, because Ritchie looked kind of scared and leaned down to whisper something in John’s ear. John looked over at Paul, scrutinizing. “You okay?” He asked, giving Paul a quick once over. Paul widened his smile and moved his shaking hands into his lap. “Of course, Sir,” he replied. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep his voice from shaking. John raised an eyebrow, obviously far from impressed. He sighed and reached out to lay a steadying hand on Paul’s shoulder. “It’s alright,” John said softly. “You have as much right to sit here as the rest of us.” Paul didn’t tell him how wrong that was because he figured that if John were to turn around, he’d know for himself. “Everyone’s staring, Sir,” he murmured and this time he couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice. John stared at him incredulously. “Seriously, what is it with you and the staring?” John asked, exasperated. “When are you gonna get it through that thick skull of yours that I don’t care? I’ve already told you that people are gonna stare anyway, might as well give them something to stare at.” 

 

Paul locked eyes with John and for a brief moment, his anxiety, fear, and paranoia all vanished and then all that was left was the absurdity of the situation. It started with a soft breathy laugh and by the time George arrived with his girlfriend Pattie a few minutes later, Paul was laughing so hard he was crying, John in a similar state beside him, face buried in Paul’s shoulder.

 

After that, things settled down. The proper introductions were made, and, despite the waiter’s obvious discomfort and Paul’s initial resistance, the meal was a success. Everyone was laughing and having a good time. John had even decided that Paul should go the day without his collar.

 

Paul had never felt so big. 

 

 

 

Once they’d all finished, John took everyone to the mall for part two their fun little outing.

 

“Okay, guys! Paul needs his own clothes, and he needs them now. Even if he looks great in mine,” John winked at Paul, making him blush. “He’s got to establish a look but I don’t think he can do it on his own, and we all know things would turn out terribly if I was his only backup here. So, we’re gonna help him. Operation: Establish Paul’s look is officially in order!” 

 

“I’ll help on the condition that we change the name. Operation: Establish Paul’s look is stupid,” Maureen deadpanned, crossing her arms. 

 

John glared at her. “You got something better?” He asked, annoyed. 

 

“Sure,” She said, raising an eyebrow. “How ‘bout we get rid of the name?” 

 

“Wait! How about we call it Paul’s Big Reveal?” Ritchie threw in with a wide smile. 

 

“Or Paul’s Transformation?” George asked. 

 

“Oh, how about A Brand New Paul?” Pattie added happily. 

 

John stared exasperatedly at the ceiling. “Okay, those were all terrible names, but, fine, call it whatever you want, just- go find something! Paul, you go with the girls. I’ll go with Geo and Ritch. Meet back at the food court at three, k?” 

 

“Yes, Sir!” Paul nodded dutifully as he allowed himself to be dragged off by the girls.

 

John clapped his hands together. “Alright, so where should we start?” 

 

George and Ritchie shared a look.

 

“Uh, well,” Ritchie started, “You lookin’ for cheap or expensive?” 

 

John blushed and looked around, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever looks good, really.” He saw them look at each out of the corner of his eye and felt something churn in his stomach. John turned and started marching off. “Let’s just go try to find something, okay.” 

 

George and Ritchie hurried to catch up with him. 

 

“Hey,” George stopped John with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He and Ritchie shared another quick look before he said quietly, “Rings and I were talking and, you know, we’re, uh, we’re with you. I know I was weird about Paul before, but Pattie’s been explaining some things to me and, really when it comes down to it, nothing I say or believe is going to change what you do and I’d rather you not tackle this whole thing alone. So, you know, we support you and everything. Even if we disagree."

 

John nodded a little, overcome with affection for his friends. He gave a soft laugh and murmured, “Sentimental bastard,” before giving George a brief bear hug. He pulled away, patted George’s shoulder, than rushed down the hall again. “Come on, we gotta find something good!”

 

 

 

At three, John, George, and Ritchie made their way back to the little food court, arms laden with bags.

 

“I’m so excited for him to wear, like, actual clothes that _fit_ him and are the right colors and are actually _him_!” John couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he rushed ahead. 

 

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s soooo him when you picked everything out,” George snickered, only laughing harder when John turned and glared at him. 

 

“Oh, fuck off,” he snarled, blushing.

 

George collapsed into full blown cackles when John perked up like an excited dog at the sound of Paul’s voice when they finally got to the food court. John darted toward Paul’s table, a big grin stuck on his face. 

 

“Paulpaulpaulpaulpaul look I got you stuff- _oh_ ,” John froze, grin turning almost manic as he took Paul’s new look. 

 

The girls had obviously taken Paul to get his hair done. It fell in soft waves over his forehead and curled around his ears, shorter than it was before, but definitely better for it. And his _shirt_. A soft looking pastel pink jumper that John felt bizarrely drawn to and found himself already plotting ways to steal. 

 

John gestured vaguely to Paul. “I like this,” he said. He turned to the girls. “Good job!” He gave them a thumbs up. 

 

Mo rolled her eyes and flipped him off while Pattie hid a giggle behind her hand. “He was so much fun to dress up! We might have gone a bit overboard, though,” she said, laughter dying off as she looked at the bags surrounding the table. 

 

George sat down next to Pattie, shifting his arm so it laid across her shoulders. “It’s fine, it’s John’s money, anyway. It’s not like he’s actually gonna use it all,” he said, wearing a shit-eating grin as John glared daggers at him. 

 

“You wouldn’t be so relaxed if it was your money,” he grumbled, sitting down next to George as Ritchie joined them, taking his place next to Maureen. 

 

“Well, that’s the point, it’s not my money so it’s fine,” George replied. 

 

John narrowed his eyes, but was prevented from saying exactly what he wanted by Ritchie being Ritchie 

 

“What all did you get, Paul? Anything exciting?” He asked, smiling kindly. 

 

Paul perked up. “Yeah! We actually got a lot-“ he glanced nervously at John, who had moved his gaze back to Paul. “-but everything was very nice. I’m, uh, not really used to having something specifically for me, so everything’s exciting. Uh, thank you guys for doing all this.” 

 

“Please, we couldn’t let you keep wearing John’s terrible taste in fashion. You’re too cute for that,” Maureen said, smiling softly at Paul who beamed at the praise. 

 

John pouted. “It’s not that bad,” he grumbled. 

 

“I’m sorry, have you seen yourself?” Maureen asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 

John pointedly ignored her. “So, anyway, thank you guys for going on this little shopping spree with us. God knows we couldn’t have done it on our own.” 

 

“You can say that again,” Mo said, snickering. 

 

“Even if _some_ of you suck, this actually managed to be fun. And Paul finally got some clothes, so there’s that,” John continued pointedly. 

 

“This has been really fun. We should do something like this again sometime,” Ritchie said, smiling. 

 

“I’m down,” George said, shrugging. 

 

“Oh, me too! This was nice! And it’s been very nice meeting you all,” Pattie said happily. 

 

“Yeah, okay, I’m in,” Maureen said, laying her head on Ritchie’s shoulder.

 

John looked around and nodded once. “Alrighty then. Paul, what say you?” 

 

Paul smiled nervously. “I-I’d like to come again,” he said.

 

“Alright. We’ll all do something again, then. But now Paul and I’ve got to go pack. Though,” he said looking around. “We might need some help bringing everything home.”

 

 

 

Later, Paul and John sat in the airport waiting to board their plane, sharing a pair of headphones. John didn’t want to move. He was too afraid of disturbing the content state that Paul seemed to be in. John tried to commit this image to memory so that he could draw it later, but suddenly Paul sat upright, eyes wide, making John jump, startled.  

 

“Sir,” Paul said urgently, “I just remembered, I-I’m due to start my heat in about two weeks. Do you want me to go on suppressants or not?” 

 

John blanked. _Fuck_. 

 

“Uh,” he started, unsure. It probably made more sense it get him on suppressants, at least for now. 

 

“We’ll get you on suppressants as soon as we get there,” he said reassuringly. 

 

Paul nodded and sat back, relieved. 

 

“Where are we going?” Paul asked softly, suddenly tired. 

 

John smiled and ruffled Paul’s hair. “Liverpool,” he said, laughing at Paul’s scrunched nose. 

 

Paul closed his eyes. “Are we visiting your aunt?” He asked. 

 

“Yep,” John said, putting his arm around Paul’s shoulders. Paul rested his head against John’s shoulder and took a deep breath. “I’m excited to meet her,” he murmured. 

 

John cringed. He was fairly certain that Mimi wouldn’t acknowledge Paul beyond his role as John’s servant. 

 

John turned and pressed his lips to the top of Paul’s head. “Her and I don’t always see eye-to-eye, Paul. She’ll probably expect you to be a little more proper than I do.” 

 

Paul hummed. “That’s okay,” he mumbled. “I’ll manage.” 

 

“Okay,” John whispered. “I’ll talk to her, too.” 

 

The conversation fell off, and John closed his eyes, just for a minute. The next thing he knew, though, he was being gently shaken awake by an older lady. “We’re boarding, luv,” she said kindly. 

 

John groaned. “Thanks,” he mumbled. She moved to get back in line and John gently woke Paul up. Both were groggy as they got on the plane, tripping over each other as they walked the cramped walkway to their seats, which they practically fell into. John fumbled for his phone and felt an instant spike of panic when it wasn’t in his pocket. 

 

“Paul, do you have my phone?” He asked, panicked. 

 

Paul looked at him wide eyed. “No,” he said. 

 

John cursed. "I must've left it back at the gate."

 

Paul put a comforting hand on John's knee. "Don't worry, I'll go grab it," he offered, smiling.

 

“Thank you!” John said as Paul got up and made his way past the stream of boarders. John patted out a beat on his lap as he waited for Paul to come back, but as the minutes ticked by, he wondered if maybe he just hadn’t looked hard enough. He searched his pockets again, but, nope, it was still missing. 

 

Finally, he saw Paul coming down the walkway, closely followed by airport security. _What the hell?_

 

Paul’s cheeks were flushed when he made it back to their seats. He bit his lip and handed John his phone. 

 

“Is this your Omega?” The security man asked with the kind of tone that said he expected the answer to be ‘no’. 

 

John bristled. “Yeah, and you better get your fucking hands off of him right now,” he snarled. 

 

The man let go of Paul, who instantly sat down, hunched forward. John could see his hands trembling. 

 

“Where’s his collar?” The man asked sternly. 

 

“What does it fucking matter where his collar is?” John snapped. 

 

“It’s illegal for him to be outside your home without it,” the man replied calmly. 

 

Before John could say something to get him in further trouble, Paul began rummaging in his bag. He sat back up, fixing the collar around his neck. “Sir, could you please do the buckle?” Paul asked quietly. John took a deep breath and then carefully did the buckle so that the collar sat comfortably against Paul’s throat. 

 

“If I could just see that real quick,” the man said, leaning in to see the engraving of John’s name on the collar. 

 

“And you are John Lennon?” He asked, glancing at John. 

 

“Yeah, so fuck off already,” John snarled. 

 

The man sighed. “Alright, but next time you take him out, make sure he has his collar on.” 

 

“Fuck off,” John mumbled as he left. Paul set a hand on John’s leg. John took a deep breath and looked at Paul. Paul was smiling. “It’s probably better we dealt with this now. I don’t feel like your aunt would be very happy to see me without the collar. Besides, it feels better being on, anyway.” 

 

John groaned. “Please don’t say that, please.” He tugged gently at the collar. “I don’t like it.” 

 

Paul snorted. “You’re so strange,” he said, but he looked happy. “The collar will have to stay on, though, okay? I don’t like you getting in trouble.” 

 

John pouted. “Fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. Though he couldn’t hold back a smile when Paul laughed. 

 

Paul poked John’s cheek. “Johnny,” he wormed.

 

“What?” John asked, eyebrow raised. 

 

“Tell me about your aunt,” Paul said, still poking John’s cheek. 

 

John grinned and lightly smacked Paul’s hand away. “Alright, stop it, I’ll talk.”

 

Paul listened quietly as John regaled him with all his little tales of youthful misadventures. It seemed that John was quite the little shit as a kid. _Fitting_ , Paul thought. 

 

Paul was jerked out of John’s story when the plane started moving. He stared straight out the window, eyes wide in amazement. He gripped John’s arm. “Look,” he said, awed. John looked out the window. All he saw was the runway. Not that exciting. 

 

He turned back to Paul. “We’re not even to the cool part and you already look like you’re gonna shit yourself.” 

 

Paul smacked his arm. “I’ve never been on a plane,” he said, eyes still locked on the window. 

 

“Right,” he said, watching Paul’s eagerness with growing glee. 

 

He tried to engage Paul in conversation a few more times, but as soon as they took off, it was hopeless. Paul couldn’t seem to stop commenting on everything he was seeing. John actually almost found his non-stop jabbering relaxing, namely because Paul wasn’t looking for any responses, John just got to listen to his voice.

 

 

 

John woke up as the plane jolted around him. He groaned as the plane quickly decelerated, slowing to a gentle, comfortable speed that effectively combatted the panicked beating of his heart. 

 

He looked over at Paul and felt laughter quickly, suddenly bubble out of him. Paul looked terrified. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was deathly white. 

 

John was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. He tried to ask Paul why the hell he was so scared, but even trying to speak made him laugh even harder. By the time he managed to calm himself, people were already filtering off the plane and Paul was staring at him like he’d lost his mind. 

 

“Are you quite done?” Paul asked, irritably. 

 

John took a deep breath. “Yeah, I think so,” he said. 

 

Paul glared at him. “Good,” he grumbled, making John snicker again. 

 

John gently nudged Paul’s shoulder as they got up. “You know, at some point you’re gonna have to get used to my shit,” he whispered playfully. 

 

Paul rolled his eyes and ignored John’s continued pestering as they exited the plane. 

 

 

 

John had originally thought that Paul had been freaked out by the landing, but as they made their way toward baggage claim and he watched Paul gradually tense, he wondered if maybe something else was getting to him. 

 

John tried to think of a casual way to bring it up when his phone started ringing. 

 

“I’ll grab the bags,” Paul said and John nodded, moving to stand a little ways away. 

 

“Hey, Mimi,” he said. 

 

“ _John, when are you going to be here?_ “ 

 

John rolled his eyes. “‘Oh, it’s so nice to hear from you, dear nephew.’ Oh yes, dear auntie, very nice to hear from you, too.” 

 

“ _John._ “ 

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be there in, like, I don’t know, maybe 45 minutes, or so? We’re grabbing our bags now,” he answered as Paul made his way back to John, both suitcases in tow.

 

" _Alright, well, let me know when you're close._ "

 

"Sure thing," John said. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and took his bag from Paul. 

 

“You ready to meet me auntie? Ask for me hand?” He asked, batting his eyelashes. 

 

Paul laughed, although stiltedly. “I don’t feel like she’d take that well. An Omega asking for his alpha’s hand? Unprecedented!” 

 

“Unheard of!” John said in mock-Mimi voice.

 

“How could your poor aunt ever recover from such disgrace?” Paul asked, shaking his head and wiping a fake tear from his eye. 

 

John smirked and wrapped an arm around Paul’s waist. “She’d get over it eventually,” he murmured in Paul’s ear. Paul went wide-eyed and turned to John in alarm. He laughed nervously and turned away from him, blushing. 

 

John kissed Paul’s cheek. “Come on, let’s grab a cab.”

 

 

When they got to Mimi’s, John was almost certain that Paul would become the first case of a human spontaneously combusting. And, despite his many efforts to calm him, Paul remained stiff as they marched up to the door. John glanced at him worriedly before knocking. A moment later the door swung open, and John couldn’t keep from smiling as he greeted his aunt. “Hey, Mimi,” he said, giving her a quick hug.

 

“Hello, John,” Mimi said happily. She pulled back, holding his shoulders so she could take a good look at him. She tutted and reached up to mess with his hair. “It’s as if you’ve no idea what a haircut is.”

 

John laughed. “Hey, Paul likes it, so I think it’s here to stay.”

 

Mimi started and her sharp eyes focused on the slight figure stood just a little behind John. “So this is your Omega?” She asked. John stood nervously, unsure of what Mimi was thinking.

 

She hummed. “Well, come in, I want to take a look at him.”

 

As soon as Paul was stood in the entrance, Mimi began thoroughly examining him. After a tense moment, she asked, “Why is he wearing such nice clothing, John?”

 

“’Cause I just took him shopping,” he offered, grinning nervously when Mimi gave him a piercing look.

 

“You took him shopping?” She asked, incredulous.

 

John shrugged, staring pointedly at the wall. “So what if I did?”

 

Mimi shook her head with a sigh. “I’m going to have to teach you how to properly use him, aren’t I?”

 

“Ah, c’mon, Mimi. Who cares about proper behavior?”

 

“I do, John.” She deadpanned.

 

“Well, good thing he’s not yours then,” John said with a wink, before dragging Paul upstairs to deposit their bags.

 

“You could at least pretend to be a proper alpha,” Paul said quietly once they made it to John’s old room.

 

“But that would be _lying_ , Paul. Lying is bad,” John said, tapping Paul’s nose.

 

Paul rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

 

John sighed.

 

“I said I’d talk to her, okay? Let me at least try,” he said, gently resting his forehead against Paul’s.

 

Paul huffed. “I mean, I can’t really _let_ you do anything, but since you don’t seem to mind my advice, I’m still going to tell you that I think it’s pointless.” He paused. “And she’s right. You do need a haircut.”

 

 

 


	10. King of My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends I am back! College and other fic ideas have been warring for my attention but I have a chapter! I won't make promises we all know I can't keep but know that I'm not giving up on this fic or anything, so updates will happen! I am hoping that routine will help me write, but again, no promises. I have another thing I'm working on, too, which is looooong (it's an evil time-eater), but hopefully when it's finished I can focus easier on this fic! Happy reading, my lovelies, I hope to be back soon;)

John crept downstairs as quietly as possible, offering Mimi a soft greeting as he moved past her on his way to the garden. It was half past eight on a Saturday and he was really hoping that this McCartney guy was going to be awake. And the right person. Hm.

 

He’d left Paul asleep after a rather, uh, _eventful_ night. He hoped sincerely that Paul would sleep late, take advantage of their little vacation, but just in case Paul remained his usual self and woke up, John had left a note telling him that he’d gone to grab some suppressants for him. Which he was going to actually do. At some point. 

 

John took a deep, shaky breath as he sat on one of Mimi’s nice little fold-out chairs, gripping his phone, desperately trying to work up the nerve to actually call this guy, but what the hell was he supposed to say? _Hey, there, man, I know this is a little strange, but I think I might have your son? Yeah, he’s kind of, y’know, my Omega, or whatever._  

 

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. He knew, _he knew_ that he’d intentionally done all this so that if it went wrong Paul didn’t have to know, but he had also started to wonder what he would do if it went _well_. Would he- he didn’t want to give Paul up. Paul had only been with him, what, three months? John knew he couldn’t go back to living alone. He’d never been good with that, Yoko had understood his need to be with someone, live for someone else. Maybe, if all of this meant giving Paul up to his family, he’d try to make amends with Yoko. Try to fix things. 

 

No. No, he couldn’t do that, not when she’d been the one to leave. Leave and destroy him, use him to regain her footing in the world. 

 

John tapped the phone he was still white knuckling against his forehead, twice. He wouldn’t be doing anything if he didn’t at least _call_ this guy. 

 

Shaking, John slowly lowered his hands and stared at the dark phone in his lap. He took a deep breath. He was just going to have to do it. 

 

Before he could talk himself out of it - _again_ \- he opened his phone and typed in the number he had been obsessing over for the last couple weeks, waiting with bated breath while the phone rang. It only rang twice before a tired voice answered, “Hello?” 

 

John felt like his heart had stopped, though that didn’t prevent him from getting out a -he cringed- rather _cold_ sounding, “James McCartney?” 

 

It was quiet for a moment, and then, “Who’s calling?” 

 

John messed with the strings on the knee of his worn jeans with a shaky hand. He maybe should have actually at least attempted to figure out something to _say_.

 

He took a deep breath. “Sir, my name is John. Lennon. Uh, I-I think I might have your son.” 

 

Silence.

 

John squeezed his eyes shut. God, he really needed to work on his subtly. 

 

There was a soft noise on the other end, almost like a cough, but not quite. “I- I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” the man said, obviously confused.

 

John’s heart had come back to life and was now sending a steady wave of anxiety straight through his body. “His name is Pa-, uh, James Paul, on his, uh, his papers it said James Paul, but I don’t, I don’t know how you knew him. He was a kid, right? That’s what he said, anyway, he was nine or something, doesn’t really remember too much? Or maybe he doesn’t like to talk about, I don’t-“ John took a breath. He wasn’t making any sense. “I don’t know if this is the right number because I don’t know what his last name is. Well, legally, uh, it’s Lennon. Now. But, you know, it wasn’t when- when he was little. When I found out that you guys had lost a kid a while back, and then I read the story, I don’t know, it sounded like what he told me. But I-I could be wrong. I just- he sounded so happy, you know, talking about his folks. I wanted to see if maybe I could find them.” 

 

He forced himself to shut up, biting his lip as he desperately waited for a reply. It took a moment, but finally, the man began talking.

 

“James?” He said quietly, and John had to squeeze his eyes shut hard to dismiss the prickling in his eyes at the raw emotion in the man’s voice. 

 

“Y-yeah. Uh, he goes by Paul, though. Now. Did when I got him,” he answered gently. 

 

Another moment of quiet before, “Why would you tell me any of this?” The emotion was gone, replaced by something guarded, cautious. 

 

“I don’t want to keep him from you if it makes him happy,” John replied honestly. 

 

Silence. Jesus, John couldn’t take all this damn _silence_. 

 

“Look,” he said, running a hand through his hair (it was a fine length, fuck you Paul _and_ Mimi). “We’re in Liverpool now visiting me aunt and if you’d like to maybe meet up, I’d love to work something out. I really don’t want to keep Paul from you, if he’s yours. He misses you guys and, you know, I love him. I want him happy.” John’s cheeks heated up at that little declaration. He coughed. “I mean, uh, you know, he’s my Omega, I-I care about him, you know, he’s uh, better and everything when he’s happy and I feel better knowing he’s happy and all that and, and-“ 

 

“Alright, alright, son, calm down,” McCartney said, tone fondly amused. “Of course I want to see him. Are you still going to be here Tuesday night?” 

 

“Yeah, we’ll be here for a couple weeks,” he said, cheeks burning in embarrassment. 

 

“Why don’t you two come round for dinner Tuesday night, then? We can see if your Paul is my James,” McCartney said kindly. 

 

“Alright,” John said, embarrassment fading back into anxiety. 

 

“I’ll text you the time and address. Oh, and just so we’re clear- if he is my son and I find out you’ve done _anything_ to him, I will make sure you never see his face again.”

 

John’s anxiety returned full force. “Sir, I-I haven’t, I _wouldn’t_ , you know, I don’t-“

 

“I would fully believe that all of this is a publicity stunt. I wouldn’t put it past you, given your history, but I love my family. It killed us when our son was taken and I won’t see him harmed by your poor self-control,” McCartney’s tone was collected, but cold. John felt frozen. After a long, uncomfortable pause, John murmured, “If he wants to stay with you, I wouldn’t stop him.” And he knew he meant it. He didn’t want Paul to leave. Ever. But he also couldn’t live with the guilt of keeping him separated from his family. All he wanted was Paul happy, so if that meant giving him up, he would. He’d try to be happy about it, too. For Paul.

 

“I hope you mean that,” McCartney said softly. John wasn’t sure what his tone meant.

 

“I do,” he whispered, though it hurt to think about. Paul. Gone. Hm.

 

McCartney hummed. “We’ll have to leave it up to him.” A pause. “Thank you for calling me. I’ll see you both on Tuesday.”

 

After he hung up, John spent several minutes just trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. They were going to see Paul’s father. Maybe. If McCartney actually _was_ his father. And he might have to give Paul up. He dropped his head into his hands. _Christ_ , he didn’t want to be alone again.

 

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Woah, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Sir. Are you alright?” Paul said, kneeling in front of John. John let out a breath. “Yeah, no, I’m good. What are you doing out here?”

 

Paul still seemed concerned. He reached for John’s hand and gently pried it from the phone, quickly interweaving their fingers. “Your aunt asked me to fetch you, but you looked upset. What happened?”

 

_If only I could tell you without feeling guiltier than I already do_ , he thought. He gave Paul’s hand a squeeze then gently tugged him up and then immediately back down onto his lap. He let go of Paul’s hand to wrap his arms around his waist, nuzzling his nose against Paul’s neck, right below the collar. There was something so relaxing about his scent. He closed his eyes as Paul rubbed his back, smiling when Paul tipped his head slightly, giving John better access.

 

John didn’t know how he could possibly leave this comfort, this _safety_. That really is what Paul was for him, a safety net. All he wanted was to stay here and never leave. Well, maybe not specifically _here_. Paul, though relatively light given his size, was still a fully grown Omega and John could feel his thighs slowly numbing. He groaned. “Hey, Paulie, I never actually got your suppressants,” he mumbled into Paul’s throat. Paul hummed. “Alright, let’s go grab some,” he whispered into John’s hair. John nodded, but refused to get up, numb legs be damned.

 

Paul let John nuzzle him for another minute before he gently pulled away, bringing John slowly to his feet. He swung their still joined hands together, hips swaying to a beat only he could hear. John grinned, a laugh forcing its way out as he pulled Paul closer, moving his hips along with Paul’s. He let go of Paul’s hands and moved his own up to cup Paul’s cheeks, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his lips. John pulled back, touching his forehead to Paul’s. “I-“ he didn’t know what he wanted to say. He just let his mind go. “I’m gonna miss you.”

 

Paul jerked his head back. “What?” He asked, alarmed.

 

John panicked. He hadn’t meant to say that, he had _not_ meant to say that, _shit_.

 

Paul moved farther away, his eyes clouding. “Are- Sir, are you getting rid of me?”

 

“No! Nonono, I’m not, _shit_ , that’s not what I meant,” John said, gripping Paul’s wrists. “Paul, listen, I-I talked to, um, to your dad, I think. James McCartney?” Paul’s eyes widened. “You talked to my dad? What-what did he-what did he say? Why did you talk to him?” John bit his lip on a whimper. He had fully planned on putting this off as long as possible because he had absolutely _no tact_. He took a deep, shaky breath and held onto Paul. “Paul, I wanted you to see your family again. I loved hearing you talk about them, you were- I dunno, it was nice, hearing it, you know. We talked and I just- I just told him that if you wanted to stay with him, I wouldn’t try to stop you.” John reached up to stroke Paul’s cheek, his knuckles smoothing over the soft skin. “And I won’t,” he whispered. “I couldn’t keep you from your family. So if you go with them, I’ll miss you.”

 

Standing this close, John could see that Paul was, unbelievably, taller than him. He hadn’t noticed until this moment and he really wasn’t sure where this was coming from, but he couldn’t seem to un-notice it. Paul brought his hand up to tentatively squeeze John’s hand, still resting on Paul’s cheek. “Sir, you’d-“ he paused, staring at John with wide, incredulous eyes. “you’d let me leave?”

 

“Yes,” John breathed.

 

Paul closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opened them again, he had a determined look on his face. “I’m not gonna leave you, John,” He said, a fond smile lighting his face.

 

John blanked. _John_. Technically speaking Paul had called him that before, but he’d been drunk. Hearing it sober made his stomach flutter, joy rising in little bubbles up to his brain. _Wait._

 

“What?” He asked, astounded.

 

“I’m not leaving you.”

 

John grabbed Paul’s face, hard. “Why not?” He practically shouted. He- _shit_ , suddenly he was _pissed_. “Paul, _I_ _own you_. I keep you as a _pet_ and you want to stay with me? Rather than be with your family, people who love you, _shit_ , you should have heard your father talk about you, Paul. Rather than all that, you’d _rather_ stay with your _captor_ , your _owner_. _Why?_ ”

 

Paul raised one very unimpressed eyebrow, which, given John’s tight grip making Paul’s cheeks puff out, would look adorable under different circumstances. “John, let go,” Paul said, voice slightly muffled in John’s grip.

 

John gaped, his hand dropping to his side. Did Paul just order him to let go? _Did he just obey?_

 

Paul blushed, as if he’d only just realized what he’d done. “Sorry,” he said quietly, hunching forward slightly to show John that he still submitted to him. “I just, I can’t just leave you, Sir. I’m yours,” he said. Paul said it like he was stating facts. Which, okay, yeah, that was kind of _exactly_ John’s point.

 

“But you don’t have to be,” John breathed, desperately trying to tell Paul that after years of slavery, he was being set free. He could fucking _leave_ , live his life however the fuck he pleased. Be a real person. Jesus, he hadn’t even realized that that was what he really wanted until now, when it was being shoved in his face.

 

Paul puffed out his cheeks, fondly exasperated. “ _John_ ,” he said. “I don’t _want_ to leave. I mean, can I still see my family if I don’t choose to live with them?”

 

“Well, yeah, of course!” John stuttered. “But, Paul-“

 

Paul groaned and shook his head. “Seriously, you are _thick_ ,” he grumbled. He reached up and pulled the collar of his shirt down, exposing the claim bite on his neck. “You see this?” he asked. John nodded, confused. Paul look at him like he was dumb. “It’s still there, Sir,” he said slowly. John stared at him blankly. Paul gaped, baffled, and then burst out laughing. “ _John_ ,” he managed after a moment, gasping for breath. “John, it’s _your mark!_ ”

 

John took a step back, confused and slightly irritated. “Yeah,” he said, unsure what Paul was telling him.

 

Paul grabbed his shoulders, grinning like a maniac. “John, I really want you to get this on your own. Did I have a mark when I came to you?” He asked. John shook his head. For some reason all he felt was terrified. Paul nodded once. “Good. But, I had owners before you, right?” John nodded. “Right. I was with them for thirteen years, John. You think they didn’t mark me?” John opened and closed his mouth several times as what Paul was saying finally began to seep in. He felt completely blank as he realized that his mark looked as fresh as the day he’d first bitten Paul.

 

“John, it’s never gonna fade. Well, not naturally,” Paul added thoughtfully. “So, I’m here as long as you want me. I want to see my dad and my _mum, God_ , and my brother and my aunties, John, I want to see all of them. I want to be with them. But I want to be with you, too. _And_ -“ he said, watching John open his mouth with some kind of counter. “-you’re not perfect, I’m not perfect, and this world can be shit, John. But I’m your Omega. Your servant, your friend, your _mate_ , I’m whatever you need me to be. Loyal to the end, okay? If you want to get rid of me, you can. But don’t do it thinking that’s what I want.”

 

John huffed, looking away and rubbing his eyes. _Ah, God._ This was too much. _Paul_ —

 

“We’re soulmates,” he muttered, feeling slightly numb.

 

“If you like, yeah,” Paul said, happy little blush painting his cheeks.

 

John sat down on the fold out chair, dropping his head between his knees and took the time to simply breathe. Calm down and figure this shit out.

 

…

 

Okay, yeah no that wasn’t going to happen right now, was it?

 

He looked back up at Paul, face carefully blank. He hoped. “Why don’t we just go get your suppressants, ‘k?” He said, desperately hoping that Paul would take the hint and let him change the subject.

 

Paul opened his mouth, then, probably thinking better of it, closed it again. “Alright, Sir,” he said quietly.

 

John felt his chest constrict as he watched Paul close himself off. He could almost see him constructing those protective walls that, for some reason, came down so easily for John. He got up and gently tugged Paul by the hand until they were pressed together. He nuzzled into Paul’s neck and hummed a wordless apology. Paul seemed to understand, thankfully, and carefully brought his arms up to wrap around John’s middle. They stayed like that for a while before Paul drummed his fingers against John’s spine and said, “Sir, we should probably go now.”

 

John nodded, face brushing against the collar (which, although he’d liked it at one point now only served to aggravate him.) He stepped back, looking Paul in the eye and there seemed to be an understanding there, an agreement of some sort that they weren’t going to Talk About It, at least not for a while. John needed to think about it. Paul seemed to just have accepted everything, but John… John couldn’t. He supposed realizing that you’d met your soulmate was a good thing, but all he could think about was that if he tried to give Paul a normal life (ignoring Paul’s insistence that he wanted a life with John), it would cause both of them to suffer. Paul more so. They’d have to remove his mark and John had seen the videos, the articles, knew it was a traumatic experience. He didn’t know what to do and he certainly didn’t want to think about it, so he just wove his fingers between Paul’s, smiled, and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips. “Let’s go then,” he murmured. One thing at a time, and all that.

 

 

 


	11. Is This Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi..... im back..... i hope...........
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> i have no excuses

 

Paul glanced at John out of the corner of his eye. They’d been standing in front of the door for – he glanced at his phone – four minutes now. He knew John was terrified. It would have been obvious even if his scent didn’t give it off; his jaw was locked, his shoulders tense, and hands shoved deep in his pockets. Paul was nervous, too, but he was also excited. He hadn’t seen his family in 12 years. Paul bit his lip on his excited giggles, but the more he tried to fight it, the harder it became. When he finally broke and let a few giggles escape, John jerked his head toward Paul, cheeks red with embarrassment or the cold, Paul wasn’t sure. He gave John a bright, slightly nervous smile and slipped his hand into John’s pocket, tangling their fingers together. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, then, after a deep breath, he knocked on the door. John squeezed his hand as they waited with bated breath for someone to answer. John’s grip tightened as footsteps sounded just beyond the door. And then the door was open, and Paul was given a brief moment of pure apathy before his dad’s scent hit him and he was rushing into his arms.

 

He’d dreamt of this moment for years, wondered what it would be like when he was finally reunited with his family. It was so much better than he’d ever imagined. He was surrounded by the scent of his father and it was calm and safety and joy and everything he’d been starved of since he’d been taken. He pulled back slightly, just so he could see his father’s face. He took in every line on his face, his kind eyes and wet cheeks, his amazed smile and Paul was hit with a horrible realization: Paul could hardly remember his face. He knew this was his father because his scent felt hardwired into Paul’s brain, but he didn’t remember what his father looked like, or his mother, or his brother. He might’ve passed his father on the street and never even known it. Tears pricked his eyes and suddenly he needed to see everyone, he needed to know what they looked like.

 

“I-is mum home?” he asked softly. He watched his father’s face freeze and then fall.

 

“Oh, James,” he whispered and then he gently brought Paul’s head back to his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son. She passed away a couple years ago.”

 

Paul didn’t know what to feel. He’d been desperate to get back to his family, his mother in particular, for years. But everything was already happening so fast and he couldn’t process quick enough to feel sad. He just felt a something hollow in his chest. There was a hand gently stroking his hair and a strong arm around his shoulder and another around his waist and he wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was surrounded by soothing scents and they helped him not think about his mother. He took a deep breath and then pulled back, looked his father in the eye and said, “Mike?”

 

Jim opened his mouth and then closed it again, his eyes worried. Paul felt his stomach fall. _Oh, god, not Mike, too_.

 

Jim sighed and then smiled, gently cupping Paul’s cheek. “He’s out in the garden.”

 

Paul took deep breaths as they moved through the house, vague memories ghosting past his eyes as he passed familiar places: the stairs – his room was upstairs; the armchair – it was his dad’s spot every time they gathered; the kitchen – mum had to do laundry in the sink when the washing machine broke. And he knew now that the arm around his waist was John’s. Strangely, the knowledge seemed to give him more strength. He slipped his hand to John’s back, taking and providing support as they stood at the back door where they could see someone – _Mike,_ Paul thought with an odd jump in his chest – laying in the grass with a book blocking the dull shine of the sun through the clouds. Mike turned to look as Jim opened the door and his eyes instantly locked on Paul. Paul stood stock still, stunned. Mike was _grown_. He watched Mike scrabble to his feet and then he was making his way over and tackling Paul in a hug, knocking him from John’s grasp. Relief he didn’t know he needed flooded his system.

 

“You remember me?” He asked quietly.

 

Mike jerked back and stared at him. “We never forgot you,” he said firmly, eyes misty. Paul’s cheeks reddened but he couldn’t have stopped smiling if he tried. He was _home_ , with his _family_. He looked to his father again and his happiness melted into laughter and then his dad was laughing, too, and Mike was joining and then the three of them were all standing there, doubled over with the most joy-filled, hysteric laughter they’d ever experienced.  

 

\--

 

Paul offered to help with dinner, but Jim wouldn’t hear of it.

 

“We’ve only just got you back, son, I’m not about to make you do anything,” he’d said, gently ruffling Paul’s hair. “I will take the help of your alpha, there, though. Not that there’s much left to do, anyway.”

 

John tensed up next to him, eyes gone wide with panic, but he went wordlessly with Paul’s father into the kitchen. Once the amusement faded, he felt suddenly naked. He didn’t like being left alone with strangers.

 

_Not strangers!_ He told himself, though just looking at Mike felt like a direct contradiction to that. After a moment of standing awkwardly, not sure what to say or do, Mike coughed. Paul glanced up at him. Mike gestured toward couch. “You can sit,” he said. Paul sat. He felt tense and unsure. This wasn’t the kid he knew. This was a full-grown man. An alpha.

 

He took a deep breath to quell the anxiety that was building and forced himself to think of something to say. Before he could say anything, though, Mike was laughing. Paul looked up, embarrassed. He wasn’t sure what to do. Was he supposed to respond?

 

Mike stopped and looked at him, eyes shining with something Paul couldn’t quite figure out. “This is so weird,” he said, leaning forward. “You’re different.”

 

Paul huffed a laugh at that, unable to stop a smile from spreading at such an incredible understatement. “Little bit, yeah. You look the same, though,” he deadpanned.

 

Mike’s smile widened. “I know, I have that great youthful charm everyone’s so jealous of.”

 

“Oh, yes, that’s it. That and your taste in fashion.”

 

Mike looked at his sweater – obnoxious patterns of yellow and purple squiggles on a neon green background – and said, “What’s wrong with it?”

 

Paul gave him a look.

 

Mike pouted. “Well, what do you know about fashion?” he mumbled, playfully crossing his arms.

 

“Enough to properly dress an entire family.”

 

Mike’s smile froze on his face but before he could respond, Jim walked in, a quiet, though much more relaxed-looking John by his side. “Dinner’s ready, boys.”

 

Dinner was fantastic. A proper Irish stew, like his mother used to make. He couldn’t remember if it was something they had often or not, but it conjured a blurry image of his mother stood at the stove stirring something in big white pot. He didn’t even know if that was a memory or just an idea, but it was good. The atmosphere was happy and gentle, and Paul felt so safe and loved sitting there laughing and talking with his father and brother and alpha. His family. He smiled as John, who seemed much more comfortable now, talked avidly with Mike about some book Paul hadn’t heard of.

 

When they were finished, Paul insisted on helping clean up. He gathered everyone’s bowls and began scraping the remains into the trash. He nearly dropped the bowl he was holding when his father spoke -“Is he good to you?”

 

It was quiet, but it startled Paul nonetheless. “Yes,” He responded without even thinking about it. It was almost programmed into him to defend his alpha. It was quiet while he finished putting everything in the dishwasher and when he stood, Jim was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, face sad. Paul looked away. He felt responsible for that look.

 

“Jamie,” Jim said softly. “I need you to tell me how you really feel. If he’s bad to you, you can come back here. Live with your brother and I. That Lennon kid doesn’t have a legal right to you due to the circumstances. It would be no burden. We miss you.”

 

Paul stared at the floor, not wanting his dad to his see his lip wobbling. “He’s not bad to me,” he whispered. He didn’t want to hurt his father, and he missed them so much and it was absolutely amazing to see them, but he couldn’t leave John. He didn’t know why he felt such a strong attachment to the alpha, outside of maybe duty, but it was strong enough to keep him from leaving.

 

He flinched when Jim touched his shoulder, tears wetting his cheeks as guilt and fear choked him. Jim tugged him gently into an embrace, murmuring, “I just want you safe. I don’t want you thinking you have to be someone’s servant.”

 

Paul buried his face in his father’s shoulder and nodded. He was fighting himself. He was John’s servant. John owned him. But John didn’t want to own him anymore, did he? But he also didn’t want Paul to leave. He didn’t really understand his place with John, but he wanted to stay with him.

 

“I really do want to stay with him.”

 

He felt his father sigh and then a hand gently rest on his hair. “How will I see you again?” he whispered.

 

Paul pulled back and grabbed his phone out of his pocket. “I don’t think John would be mad if I had you as a contact.”

 

His father stared at the phone for a moment, the screen open to the photo John had insisted Paul use as his screensaver – a picture of the two of them making stupid faces, cheeks pressed together – before he took it.

 

As he was putting his information in, John and Mike came in, John instantly making a beeline for Paul. He slid his arm around Paul’s waist as Paul took the phone back from his father.

 

“What’re you doing?” John asked.

 

“Putting myself and Mike into Paul’s phone,” his father replied before Paul had a chance, and the way he said it almost made Paul think he was angry. John’s grip tightened the slightest bit and he sounded a little tense as he said “Oh. That’s great.”

 

Paul looked between them. He was torn. This was a challenge between alphas and Paul wasn’t sure who he was supposed to side with.

 

He tried to defuse the situation. “Thank you for dinner, Sir. It was amazing.”

 

“James, I’m your father. You can call me ‘dad’,” Jim said, voice tired.

 

Paul blushed and looked at his feet. “Yes, right. Sorry.”

 

Jim turned to John. “Do you make him call you that?”

 

John looked affronted. “Of course not. He calls me John.”

 

Jim scowled and crossed his arms. This was really starting to go downhill.

 

“You say that like you’re proving how great an _owner_ you are. You still own my son and you’ve been shoving it down my throat all night,” Jim said angrily.

 

“And what exactly have I done?” John snapped.

 

Mike stepped in. “You’ve hardly let him out of your sight and you keep draping yourself all over him.”

 

“He’s been uncomfortable, what was I supposed to do? Leave him alone in a strange place with people he hasn’t seen since he was 9? I’m not about to leave him because you two don’t like it,” John snarled.

 

“He’s isn’t uncomfortable, he’s home! He knows us!” Mike shot back.

 

“John,” Paul pleaded quietly, tugging softly at John’s sleeve, but John brushed him off.

 

“Do you know him? You probably hardly recognize him, and he’s been through more. You expect him to walk in, fully accepting all of this?”

 

“He should know that he would always be safe with his family,” Jim said coldly.

 

“But he hardly knows you! It’s been 12 years since he’s seen you!” John exclaimed.

 

“John,” Paul said more urgently, but was once again brushed off.

 

“Well, what would you know? How are we supposed to trust someone who bought a human being like he was a fucking pet?” Mike snapped.

 

John lunged at Mike and Paul only barely managed to stop him from attacking his brother. He moved in front of John and tried to calm him.

 

“This is why I said you should leave him, James. He’s reckless and aggressive and unpredictable. We’re your family, we love you and want you home.” Jim said quietly.

 

Paul felt horribly torn. He’d dreamed of his family rescuing him for years, had desperately hoped that one day they’d see each other again. And John, his _alpha_ , had been kind enough to take him to his them, to offer to let him leave. He wasn’t entirely sure what this attachment to John that he felt was. His gut told him it was love, but his head told him it was something else. Something was happening between them and he wanted to find out where it would lead. At the same time, he didn’t want to have to choose between them. He didn’t want to upset anyone. Without uttering a word, he turned and walked out of the room. He couldn’t think with everyone staring at him expectantly.

 

He found himself in his old bedroom, left exactly as it had been when he was little. He heard more arguing downstairs and tried to block it out by exploring his old room. He found many drawings he’d done, old books he’d loved, and a bunch of old notebooks. He stared for a long time at his third-year notebook. It felt like that had been a completely different world – a world where omegas went to school and didn’t have to worry about being kidnapped and sold to the highest bidder. He put the notebook back into his desk drawer. He didn’t want to think about that anymore.

 

He sat down on his old bed, surprised by how clean the bedspread was. They must have washed it in case Paul would be staying. A sharp pang of guilt ran through him. He looked up when the door opened, and his father stepped inside, looking guilty.

 

“I’m sorry about all that. This was supposed to be a happy occasion.”

 

“It was,” Paul said. “Until the arguing, that is.”

 

Jim gave a soft snort of laughter and sat beside Paul on the bed.

 

“I don’t understand why you want to stay with him,” he said quietly, staring ahead at the wall.

 

Paul shrugged. “Me neither.”

 

Jim looked at him, concerned. Paul continued. “I mean, I like him, but you’re right. I’ve hated this life since I started it. I really don’t know what’s different with John.” He paused. “Maybe it’s because he treats me like a person. Mostly.” He laughed. “We’re both learning right now. But, y’know, he’s one of my Matches.”

 

Jim’s eyes widened. “ _He’s_ your soulmate?” He asked incredulously.

 

Paul laughed again, shaking his head. “What is it with both you and John jumping straight to soulmates? I said he was a _match_ , not my soulmate. We’re compatibles. That could be all there is to it. Regardless, his bite hasn’t faded. We’ll have to wait a little longer to see if we’re actual _soulmates,_ though.”

 

Jim took a deep breath and looked back at the wall. “I guess I get why you want to stay with him more, now,” he said finally.

 

Paul nodded, but didn’t respond.

 

After a moment, Jim spoke. “You are going with him, then?”

 

“Yes,” Paul said quietly, though he couldn’t stop thinking about the clean linens he was sitting on.

 

“Okay,” Jim said, nodding. He turned to face Paul fully. “I want you to call me if you need anything at all and I want to talk to you as much as possible, okay? Whenever you’re free and feel like some company, just call me. If things don’t work out with him, you can always come back here.” He gently cupped Paul’s cheeks. “I love you, son. Now that I have you back, I’m not going to let you go so easily.” Paul gave a watery laugh and nodded. “I wouldn’t want you to,” he said. Jim smiled and kissed Paul’s forehead. “Alright, we should get back downstairs and then you should probably be off. It’s getting late.”

 

Jim and Paul headed back downstairs to find Mike and John sitting in the living room, both wearing guilty looks on their faces. John perked up as soon as Paul came in. He got up and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled Paul into a hug, mummering a million apologies into his shoulder. Paul smiled and wrapped his arms around John, silently assuaging the other’s guilt. He pulled away and kissed his nose once before nuzzling his cheek. “I love you,” he said softly.

 

John smiled happily and gently dragged his chin across Paul’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”

 

When they pulled apart, Mike, despite his clear discomfort, apologized as well.

 

“It’s fine, really. You don’t have to apologize,” Paul soothed.

 

“We’re incredibly happy that you’ve come back to us, James. If you’re going to be in town much longer, come by any time. We’d love to see you as much as we possibly can,” Jim said warmly from the doorway. Paul shared a look with John before replying, “Okay, yeah. We’ll be in town for another week so maybe we could all go out to dinner sometime this week?”

 

Jim smiled. “That sounds fine. How about Wednesday?”

 

“Wednesday’s perfect,” John said. Paul felt relieved that they were having a civil conversation again. He hoped it would stay that way.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed. I know it was a little short, but i felt horrible for not having posted in uhhhhhhh 2 months soooooo..... not quite a lot to show for it but y'know


	12. Strawberry Fields Forever

The second dinner went significantly better than the first. There were no fights, and no one but the other patrons of the Italian restaurant they all decided on gave Paul any grief. Paul was wearing his collar (which got him looks from McCartney Sr.) and, as with the first time John took Paul out to eat, the waitress kept insisting that she bring out a kneeling pad for Paul, which John repeatedly refused with building aggression until the poor girl (who couldn’t have been a day over 16) was nearly in tears. Outside of that, it was great. He and Mike both pretended that things had never been bad between them, and they continued their conversation about a Jandy Nelson’s writing. When John had listened in on Paul and Jim’s conversation briefly, it had been about old family recipes that Paul wanted. John wouldn’t complain if he could have that Irish stew again.

 

Everyone steadfastly ignored the collar until they left the restaurant, when Jim pulled John aside, completely pissed off. “Why is he wearing a collar?” He demanded.

 

“Believe it or not, he insisted,” John said uncomfortably, looking over at Paul where he was talking animatedly with Mike. And it was true. Paul had stuck to his word, wearing the collar around the house to pacify Mimi, but as soon as they were in the taxi John had told him to take it off. John had been stunned when Paul hesitated. “Are you sure?” Paul’d asked, giving John an odd look.

 

“Yes,” John had said firmly, trying to read Paul and see what he missed. Paul hesitated again, before finally succumbing. Once it was off, Paul held it gingerly in his lap, eyes trained on it as he seemed to curl up, shoulders and legs tense.

 

After a few moments of silence, John finally said, “What’s wrong?”

 

Paul curled up a little further, shaking his head. “Paul, c’mon, you’ve gotta tell me, babe. I can’t read your mind,” John said, gently wrapping his arm around tense shoulders.

 

Paul was quiet for another moment, glancing briefly at the taxi driver (who John had only just noticed was avidly listening to their every word) before saying quietly, “I feel naked.”

 

Well, that wasn’t what he expected. “Paul, it’s just an accessory. All it does is tell people that you have an owner,” he said gently, slowly moving his hand down to rub Paul’s back.

 

Paul shook his head. “No, John, it – I need it on. I don’t like not wearing it.”

 

“You were fine the first time, though,” John pointed out.

 

Paul bit his lip. John could smell Paul’s rising anxiety. “That was different, it was my first time not wearing a collar in 12 years, John. It was exciting then, but I don’t like it anymore and I want to put it back on, please, Sir, I want to put back on.” Paul’s voice was rising in desperation and the poor kid was nearly in tears.

 

“Okay, okay, you can put it back on, it’s fine, go ahead.”

 

Immediately, Paul brought the collar back up to his neck and John carefully fastened it to a comfortable tightness, bringing Paul’s rapid breathing to a slow. John gently pulled Paul’s head to his neck, still rubbing his back as he murmured softly into his hair, “Why does that bother you so much?” Paul had shrugged and John had dropped it.

 

Jim eyed him suspiciously. “You can ask him yourself if you want. I told him to stop wearing it weeks ago,” John shrugged.  Jim stared for a minute more, eyes misty and jaw tense, before he walked back over to his boys and brought them both into a warm, firm hug. It warmed John’s heart to hear Paul laugh like that as he snuggled closer to his father. Paul noticed him over Jim’s shoulder and gave him a big grin. “C’mere, John!” He called happily. John approached hesitantly, but Paul was nothing of the sort when he tugged John into the embrace, too. John couldn’t help but smile at the overwhelming love of this little clan.

 

 

 

 

Ever since that first dinner, John and Jim had been texting about whether or not they should bring this situation to the police. Ultimately they decided that, yes, they should, but they didn’t know when. Neither of them knew the extent of Paul’s trauma and they were both hesitant to force him to recount any of it. They took a little walk after dinner and John further explained some of his worries. “I know you don’t like me much as an alpha, but from the little I’ve picked up about his previous family, they were pretty horrible. I don’t know much, but I’m thinking they might have been the kind to bid him out.” Jim looked at him, confused. John shifted uncomfortably. “That means basically his owners would have people pay to, uh… well, to use him.” Jim looked distraught. “I don’t know that for sure, I just… I don’t know, it’s the way he acts. I know for a fact, though, that he was beaten. I’m guessing semi-regularly.” John made a face. “He thought _I_ was going to hit him.”

 

“Are we sure that’s because he was abused?” Jim asked quietly. John looked at him sharply. Jim kept his gaze fixed on his boys, walking calmly ahead of them. “You aren’t exactly known for being the kindest to your lovers.”

 

John tried not to be offended because he knew it was true. He _had_ been an aggressive, sometimes violent alpha. Honestly, that hadn’t really stopped until Paul. Who knew if that was even going to last, though?

 

“You haven’t hit him, then?” Jim asked.

 

“No!” John exclaimed. Paul turned around, concerned. John smiled weakly at him, but Paul came over anyway.

 

“Are you alright, Sir?” He asked, worried.

 

“John,” John breathed, gently bringing his hands up to cup Paul’s cheeks. “I asked you to call me John, baby.”

 

Paul’s already cold-nipped cheeks reddened even more. “Right, sorry.” John smiled sadly and gently pressed a kiss to his cold lips. “I love you,” he whispered. When he pulled back, Paul looked very confused, but leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “You should stop whatever you’re talking about. It’s upsetting you,” Paul murmured. John held very still before looping his arms around Paul’s waist. “Fuck, I really do love you.”

 

John was suddenly struck with such a vivid image, and fuck, he couldn’t have described it if he tried, but the _feeling,_ it was so intense. He hadn’t felt this since the early days of his relationship with Yoko. “Holy shit!” He shouted, hands shooting back up to Paul’s cheeks. “Holy fucking shit!” He danced away briefly before racing back and grabbing Paul’s hands, laughing as he pulled him close. “Paul!”

 

John watched Paul’s eyes widen and briefly dance away from him before returning. “What?” He asked, alarmed.

 

“We have to go to the store! Right now! Let’s go!” He started dragging Paul down the street. They were only a couple blocks from the art store. He just hoped it was open.

 

 

 

 

_It was_. Thank god. He wandered all over the store, grabbing everything he needed, shoving them into the arms of whoever was nearest. Mike ended up with several things of paint, Jim ended up with the brushes and a couple small canvases, and Paul got one of the two large canvases John grabbed. They brought everything to the counter where the cashier froze upon seeing John.

 

“Oh my god, you’re John Lennon,” he said, pale. John, still buzzing with everything exploding in his head, had to pause and carefully think about the situation. Fan or foe?

 

“I am and I’m buying supplies. Can I do that?” He asked gruffly.

 

The kid went wide-eyed. “Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” he stammered as he shakily began ringing everything up. John eyed him warily. The kid looked terrified. John swallowed. “Sorry, just got some inspiration and wanna get to it while it’s fresh, y’know,” he offered, trying to be softer.

 

The kid looked up, amazed little smile on his face. “You did?” He squeaked. Ah, a fan then. John leaned casually against the counter. “Yeah, I’m pretty excited. Haven’t really been feeling it lately, y’know, and then suddenly BAM! –“ He spread his hands out in front of him, smiling as the kid’s smile grew in fascination. “- there it is!”

 

“That’s amazing,” the kid breathed. John smiled as the kid opened and closed his mouth before finally saying, “Y-You know, uh, you’ve been a really big inspiration to me and I know you probably get that a lot but, y’know, it’s just, I don’t know, you don’t really see young people making it in art, it’s not advertised and it always kind of seemed impossible to me but, like, you didn’t even go to school for it! Well, not for long or anything, you just sort of did your thing and the art world came to you and it’s honestly so incredible to be meeting you right now, could I maybe get a picture?” John blinked against the onslaught of words washing over him. When his brain finally caught up, he chuckled. “Sure,” he said.

 

The kid gave him the brightest smile before quickly fumbling for his phone. He held the phone out with a shaky hand for a selfie, trying several times to get the picture to not be blurry before John gently took the phone and handed it to Paul. “Care to do the honors, babe?” he asked, cheeky. Paul smiled. “Sure,” he said, but paused when he noticed the kid’s face. He was frozen once again, eyes locked on Paul.

 

“Holy shit, you’re the Omega,” he whispered.

 

The air immediately went tense. “Is that bad?” John asked, voice dangerous. He only felt slightly guilty when the kid went pale again.

 

“No!” He said, quickly backtracking. “No no no, I love what you’re doing! My sister’s an omega and she used to make fun of me for being a fan of yours but she’s super happy now! There aren’t many celebrities out advocating Omega rights and I’m super down with it! I wish our world didn’t work the way it does, y’know? It’s just crazy, I keep reading articles about him and it’s crazy to see that it’s all real and right here and I swear I didn’t mean anything by it!” Once again John had to process the kid’s word vomit as quickly as possible.

 

He looked at Paul who was stood completely still, eyes wide. He glanced at John and John knew they were thinking the same thing.

 

_Omega rights advocate?_

 

He saw Paul readying himself to deny it, but John swooped in quickly to talk first.

 

“Yeah, it’s kinda weird right now after everything with Yoko, but, y’know, Paul’s really opened my eyes to a ton of problems I hadn’t thought of.” He watched Paul’s eyes widen further. He looked back at the kid who looked very relieved. “You want him in the picture, too?” He asked. He stifled a laugh as Paul seemed to have completely ceased the ability to breathe. The kid looked ecstatic. “That’d be awesome! My sister’ll be so jealous!”

 

John smiled at Paul. “Well, c’mon then, get over here.” Paul was still rooted to the spot, eyes wide with barely contained panic. Gently, Jim pried the phone out of Paul’s tense hands and gave him a light nudge toward John, who was quick to pull Paul close. The kid stepped out from behind the counter and posed between John and Paul, big smile on his face while Jim snapped a couple pictures. When he got his phone back, he was buzzing with excitement.

 

“Thank you so much!” He gushed. John smiled. “Of course, it was no trouble. Was it, Paul?” Paul looked at him, and it was kind of worrying John that Paul was still so freaked out. After a moment, Paul shook his head and returned his gaze to the floor. John cleared his throat and turned back to the kid, who was looking at Paul with some worry.

 

John shrugged. “You’ll have to forgive him, it’s his first time getting asked for a picture,” he said, with a wink. The kid nodded and finished ringing up John’s haul.

 

“You an artist, then?” John asked. The kid blushed and nodded. John hummed.

 

“Got anything with you?”

 

The kid froze and slowly looked at him. He carefully snuck a hand under the counter and pulled out a sketchbook. John perked up. “Can I see it?”

 

The kid nodded again, and John took it, interest peaked. He flipped through the pages, stifling a laugh when he came across a page of sketches of him. “Those are good,” Paul said. John turned his head to find that Paul was looking over his shoulder at the drawings, momentary panic seemingly forgotten.

 

John nodded and handed the sketchbook back to the kid. “He’s right,” he said. “What’s your name?”

 

The kid’s cheeks were so red, he looked sunburnt. “G-Gavin, uh, Dolan,” he stammered. John nodded thoughtfully, just to build tension a bit more. He was enjoying this entirely too much.

 

“Well, Gavin Dolan, I like you. And your art. It’s pretty good. Maybe when I’m back next time, I could show you a few things?” He hadn’t actually thought about it at all, but he was going to stick with it anyway.

 

Gavin gaped. “Are you serious?” He finally managed. He could feel Paul’s eyes on him as he said, “Yeah, totally. Here, give me your phone for a minute.” Gavin handed him his phone and John put himself in as a contact.

 

“I know I’m known for being a bit reckless, but hey, you’re good and I’d hate to see you fall through the cracks. I’ll probably be back in a couple months, so be ready.” He handed the phone back with a smile.

 

Gavin nodded eagerly. “That sounds amazing!” He glanced at the contact and bit his lip. “Is this like, your actual number? Like private?”

 

John grabbed the bags and one of the large canvases. “It is, so don’t sell it to the press. If you do, I’ll have your head,” he said, only half joking. “Anyway, have a good night, Gavin Dolan! I’ll be seeing you soon – don’t forget!” And with that they left.

 

Mike laughed as soon as they door closed behind them. “I didn’t realize you were an actual celebrity, mate. Thought you were someone that artists knew and that was it.”

 

“Well, he _was_ an artist, but I’m also apparently popular with the younger demographic, probably ‘cause I’m one of ‘em. And I tend to attract drama,” John said, huffing as he struggled to keep the canvas up with one arm, but it kept slipping. Finally, Paul stepped forward and grabbed the canvas so he was holding both.

 

“Ah, no, Paul, if you grab the bags, I can hold the canvases.” But Paul was shaking his head.

 

“I’ve got ‘em, John,” he said, shifting to look around the side of the cavasses.

 

“C’mon, Paul, they’re heavy, they’re gonna be too much-“

 

“Christ, John I’ve carried _you_. I’m fine.”

 

“But that was only across two rooms!”

“That reminds me – where the hell are we going?”

 

John paused and looked briefly around. His cheeks reddened slightly, before he coughed. He’d automatically been on his way to Stu’s old place, his old studio. “Back to Mimi’s,” he finally said. “Obviously.”

 

“Yes, obviously that’s where we were going, John. For sure, yes, lead on,” Paul said, using the canvas to gesture down the street.

 

“Oh, fuck off, Paul.”

 

 

 

 

Once they’d parted ways with Paul’s family and were back at Mimi’s, John ran quickly up to his room to set up one of the large canvases against the windowsill (a setup he was all too familiar with since they never quite had room for an easel) and grabbed the folded-up tarp in his desk drawer. While John was setting up, Paul brought the rest of his supplies and set them on the bed.

 

“Ah, thanks, Paul,” John said and quickly began ruffling through the paints. Paul sat on the edge of the bed, watching John. He’d never seen John paint before.

 

“Hey, I’m gonna need you to not talk when I’m working. I can’t paint and talk at the same time,” John said, digging through his drawers to find his palette.

 

That was fine with Paul. While John got to painting, Paul grabbed one of the guitars and played a soft G chord. “Is it all right if I play?” He asked quietly.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” John muttered distractedly, dragging his brush slowly across the canvas.

 

They passed the rest of the night like that, Paul curled up with the guitar and John stood at his canvas, both content with each other’s presence.

 

 

 

 

When noon came the next day, Mimi found Paul and John both asleep, Paul on the bed hugging his guitar and John having only made it halfway to the bed, his head resting on his arms by Paul’s head, the rest of him still sat on the floor. The last thing she noticed was the still drying masterpiece John had left on the windowsill.

 

 


End file.
